Infidelity (20 page)

( CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN )

“Charles, I really do believe it has great potential. It's the most optimistic, hopeful thing you've ever written. Truly romantic. Quite beautiful. You should be very proud.”

Charlie took another long swig of his whisky, enjoying the satisfying clink of the ice against the glass as he returned it to the table.

His agent, a short, balding, likely impotent man who was gifted at both his profession and portraying unrealistic enthusiasm, was enabling him by picking up the tab at the Four Seasons hotel bar, the only reasonable hotel that Charlie could think of that he and Ronnie hadn't frequented.

They hadn't seen each other in a while, certainly not since Charlie's life had begun to fabulously unravel, and although it was clearly evident that it had, what with the beard he had cultivated and the vague smell of a lonely, single man coming off him, his agent acknowledged nothing—just gushed almost too enthusiastically about his finally completed novel.

“This one could be really profitable for you, Charles. A comeback.”

Charlie didn't know he had something to come back from. He considered whether or not it was appropriate to order another drink at two in the afternoon.

“It'll do quite well with women, I'm sure,” his agent added.

Charlie laughed loudly. “At least something will.”

“Excuse me?”

Charlie waved him off and gestured to the bartender to bring him another. The agent raised his eyebrow slightly at the request but said nothing.

Despite all the enthusiasm, Charlie cared very little for the book and viewed it as a throwaway—hundreds and hundreds of pages documenting a life he didn't, couldn't have with Ronnie. He had only sent it because there was little else he could do.

“All I'm saying is I think this might be it for you. This might be the one. I think we should probably move on it quickly.”

“Listen, do you think maybe you could lend me some money?”

An awkward pause and then a sympathetic look. “Are you and Tamara having problems?”

“Actually, never mind. We're fine.”

The tab was paid care of his agency and the two shared a firm handshake, an agreement of enthusiastic potential, before Charlie limped off toward the lobby of a hotel much fancier than the one he was currently maxing out his credit card to stay in.

“Oh, and Charles?” the agent called after him.

Charlie turned, slightly dizzy from the drink.

“Give my best to Tamara and Noah.”

( CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT )

Ronnie received an email from Tamara a month or so after she had moved into Lisa's apartment.

Lisa had left the invitation for Ronnie to stay open-ended and it had been working well, despite the fact that Ronnie had been sleeping on the couch and living out of a tiny bag. Occasionally she would return to the apartment in Parkdale to retrieve a few things, but she was in a holding pattern, largely undecided about what she would ultimately do.

“Don't sweat it, Rons,” Lisa would say, lighting a joint. “Take all the time you need. I'm liking the company. And no one is saying you have to decide anything just yet.”

One morning she was hungover, as she often was now, wandering around the one-bedroom plus den in her pyjamas, trying to feel vaguely human, when the email notification dinged from the computer in the corner.

She hoped it was Aaron. Then she hoped it was Charlie.

Veronica,

I would like to have dinner with you. Meet me at Coco Lezzone on College at 7 p.m. on Thursday evening. No anger. No blame.

I just want to understand.

Tamara

Ronnie asked for the time off when she started her shift that afternoon.

“So what was it about him? Why did you pick him?” Tamara asked. She'd had a few glasses of wine at this point, and apparently the pleasantries were over.

“I don't know what you mean,” Ronnie said, buttering a slice of baguette with slow, deliberate precision. It had taken a good half an hour for her to get comfortable with being at dinner with Tamara, but early on in the evening, almost immediately, Tamara has assured her this wasn't about blame. And now that Ronnie had ejected both Charlie and Aaron from her life, she didn't really feel she had anything to lose.

“I mean, I know why I picked him. But why did you pick him?'

“But I didn't pick him. I just met him. I told you. At a party.”

“I remember that party. I think I was watching Noah that night.”

“It was just a stupid moment. A mistake.”

“But that's never the way this kind of thing works. When I met him I picked him. I saw him onstage reading one of those stupid poems and I picked him,” Tamara said.

Ronnie didn't know this detail of Tamara's first meeting with Charlie, found it hard to comprehend that this woman had been enamoured enough with his performance, so many years ago, to chase after him.

“Honestly. It was a few seconds. A few glasses. Whisky and wine. He pursued me.”

“Oh, Veronica. You must have been ready for him to show up. And he was certainly ready to fuck you.”

“I don't like the way this is going,” Ronnie said, uncomfortable. She hadn't taken a bite of her bread and was holding it awkwardly. “I understand your impulse to understand. But please don't belittle it for me.”

“Fine. Maybe not fuck you. But need you. He needed something else. I understand that now.”

“That's generous of you, considering.”

“I just mean that you may not have known you needed him. To end your relationship with Aaron. But you did. Just like he needed you to end our marriage.” Tamara's face softened as she said this. She seemed pleased with her conclusion, and Ronnie submitted a weak nod.

“Does that mean you're glad it happened, then?”

“The affair?” Tamara laughed and put her glass down on the table with some force. “No one wants their husband to sleep with someone ten years younger than them.” She laughed lightly.

“Of course not.”

“But yes, I'm glad it's over. I was growing tired of . . .”

“Taking care of him?” Ronnie stopped herself. “Sorry. I have a nasty habit of finishing people's sentences.”

“No. It's okay. You're right. I was tired of being the better one.”

“Do you think you were?”

“Of course not. But we all have our roles to play and they get exhausting after a while.”

“I can sympathize with that. And I'm very sure Aaron feels the exact same way.”

“Ronnie, you are nothing like Charlie. Charlie is a child. There was a time he couldn't even ride the subway. You can't even comprehend what it's like to be with someone like . . .” Tamara paused, realizing that of course Ronnie could understand. “Well. Maybe you were better at it than I was. A better person than I am.”

Tamara is good.

“It was just new and it was just something else. An escape. I was no better. Just different. He loved you. He loves you. He'll always . . .”

“I don't need you to say that. I know that. He just wanted you more.”

“But he didn't. He wouldn't leave you. He refused.”

“Did you ask?”

“Not at first. But then it was all I could think about. Every day. I think at first you think you can cope with it. You can handle the fact that there's someone else.”

“Um, sorry, but I think in this case you were the ‘someone else.'”

“Fair. Yes. I just mean . . . who he goes home to. That he shares a bed with. That is his whole world.” Tamara laughed bitterly at this comment but Ronnie gracefully chose to ignore her. “You accept all that. But then it settles in that you will never completely have him. And you get greedy.”

“It's strange, he was a much better husband the year the two of you were . . .” Tamara stopped herself. She couldn't bring herself to finish and Ronnie didn't push.

Ronnie changed the subject. “How is Noah? I mean, now that Charlie is gone?'

“You know, I want to say he's not coping very well, but with Noah you can't tell. He's always not coping well. And in some ways, he does seem calmer now that Charlie is gone. I don't want to say that Charlie was a bad father. He was a really good father. But he was always so wrung out. I feel like Noah knew it. Didn't like the energy. I think Noah is more intuitive than people give him credit for.”

“Sure.”

“I'm sorry about what happened to you, Ronnie. Charlie told me. About you being sick.”

“I appreciate that. It was Aaron who wanted to have children, anyway. For me it was all wrapped up in expectation.”

“Where you're so focused on what everyone else wants that you can't even figure out what it was you wanted when you started.”

“There must have been a time when things were good between the two of you. The three of you. A time you look back on,” Ronnie said. She knew full well she was reaching for something positive, some sort of happy snapshot she could hang up so she could feel like Charlie had redeeming qualities. That he wasn't the monster who was attacked by her Rottweiler in her front hall.

“Marriage is strange like that. You can't really understand it unless you're in it. The feelings of right now always seem to be magnified. They overshadow everything else. Now, I can't even remember a time when we were happy.”

“He used to talk about how happy you were. How lucky he was.”

“You're lying. I appreciate it, but you are.”

“No. It's true,” she said, even though she was.

“He was happy. With you. He found someone new to take care of him when I grew tired of it. I was never happy. But I think I knew, deep down, there was someone else that was—we weren't even sleeping together anymore.”

“I'm sorry,” Ronnie said, bowing her head slightly. The waiter arrived with their meals, both pasta with bolognese sauce on account of the fact that Ronnie was so nervous she was only able to repeat Tamara's order. While he ground pepper on their meals and offered them parmesan Tamara looked away awkwardly, and when he left she looked directly at Ronnie.

“The sex. How was it?”

“Tamara, don't. You don't want to . . .”

“Yes I do. Was it passionate? Was it rough? Did he . . .”

“It was good. Yes,” Ronnie said meekly.

“Do you miss it?”

“Please, don't.”

“All right. Do you miss him?”

There was a long pause between them, their plates steaming, their glasses approaching empty.

“More than anything.”

( ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS )

Thanks to the wonderful folks at ECW for their investment and care, especially Jen Hale and Jen Knoch for their invaluable editorial commitment and direction. I'm additionally eternally grateful to Samantha Haywood for being a patient and supportive agent and friend, without whom so much of my work wouldn't be possible.

Thanks to the Banff Centre for offering a refuge for the completion of the manuscript, and to Jared Bland and Robert J. Wiersema for selflessly reading early drafts and offering invaluable editorial guidance. Thanks to the wonderful team at
The Walrus
, who over the years have become more like family than colleagues, and to Mark Medley at the
National Post
for his generosity and faith.

I'm forever indebted to Dani, Nat, and Panic for the kind of loyalty and friendship I never before would have believed possible, and to my parents for their unwavering support, even when they were unsure what path I was on.

And as always, thank you to Spencer, who with each passing day proves to be the best decision I ever made.

( ABOUT THE AUTHOR )

STACEY MAY FOWLES
is a writer and magazine professional living in Toronto. Her first novel,
Be Good
, was published by Tightrope Books in 2007.
This Magazine
called it “probably the most finely realized small press novel to come out of Canada in the last year,” and film rights have been optioned by Federgreen Entertainment Inc. In fall 2008 she released an illustrated novel,
Fear of Fighting
, and staged a theatrical adaptation of it with Nightwood Theatre. The novel was later selected as a
National Post
Canada Also Reads pick for 2010. Her writing has appeared in various magazines and journals, including
The Walrus
,
Maisonneuve
,
Quill & Quire
,
Taddle Creek
,
Hazlitt
,
and
Prism
. She has been anthologized in
Nobody Passes: Rejecting the Rules of Gender and Conformity
,
Yes Means Yes
, and PEN Canada's
Finding the Words
. Most recently, she co-edited the anthology
She's Shameless: Women Write About Growing Up, Rocking Out, and Fighting Back
. She is a regular contributor to the
National Post
books section, and currently works at
The Walrus
.