Private Lies (17 page)

The idea of superiority was inbred in his genes. While it
was never fully articulated by his parents, his stockbroker father and his
social doyenne mother, it was assumed that family, position, and class
proscribed a certain code of conduct.

"We must always control ourselves," his mother
had intoned from earliest memory. By that she meant that he must never exhibit
the licentious conduct and uninhibited mores of the lower orders. He had
actually come to his own first marriage bed a virgin, after suffering through
an adolescence of sexual repression that even the permissive atmosphere of the
sixties failed to dislodge.

Perhaps it was this repression that made him take refuge in
his causes, his "thinking" endeavors. It was an idea never explored
until recently, until Maggie had opened the locked door to this secret life.

From the very first moment of the consummation of their
passions, both he and Maggie had searched for an explanation.

"Why you?" he had asked after they had made love
for the third time that evening. Twilight had given way to darkness and they
had not turned on the lights in his office. They had left the phone unanswered.
Their sole concentration had been on themselves, on plumbing the mystery of
this awesome attraction between them.

"Why you?" she had responded.

"I've always thought of myself as the least likely
candidate for this type of thing," he had told her.

"Proves how little we really know about
ourselves," she had replied. "This is not my usual conduct either.
I've never been unfaithful to Ken. It was unthinkable." She held his face
in her hands and kissed him deeply. "Until you."

"We're an unlikely pair," he had said.

"More likely than we think."

He admitted to himself that she might possess some superior
insight into the mysteries of human behavior, just as she knew about the
mysteries of computers. She certainly had brought him into emotional areas that
he had never before traversed.

But, then, she had confessed that she, too, was confronting
this side of her nature for the first time.

"I come from a very traditional background," she
had told him. "Practical, midwestern, Norwegian. Hard-working achieving
types, family, the work ethic, the whole nine yards." She had interrupted
her explanation with a wry laugh. "I'm the first woman in our family that
is not a housewife. Imagine that. Infidelity wouldn't have crossed my mother's
mind." She was lying beside him naked on his office couch. Suddenly, she
reached out and caressed his penis. "And here I am making love to a man
who is not my husband and who I have yearned for ever since I laid eyes on him.
Can you explain that to me?"

He had chuckled a response.

"I'm having my own problems understanding any of it,
Maggie."

"Then let's just go with the flow," she had said,
guiding him into her.

They had parted after that first episode in his office with
a conspiratorial air, but without broaching any serious questions as to their
future relationship. The immediate aftermath provided yet another sortie into
strange turf, the territory of lies and deception.

"I was frantic," Carol had said when he returned
to their apartment that evening. It was nearly ten. He could understand her
consternation, since he was a man of regular habits, his time carefully
structured.

He remembered he had felt the first tug of guilt and had
deliberately remained silent, fearful that any explanation would be
transparent.

"I called the office three times," she had told
him. He was relieved that he had chosen the correct strategy. He might have
told her that he was working late, a lie that could be disputed by her attempts
to reach him. Which would trigger yet another lie. Something about the
breakdown of the telephone system.

"I just walked around," he told her. "I've
had to think about certain things." Perfect, he had decided. Wasn't his
work "thinking"?

"I wish you would have called, Eliot," Carol had
said. "I was worried."

"I will in the future," he had told her. "I
promise."

It was odd, he remembered thinking, how easy it was to lie
when the cause seemed justified.

He awoke early the next morning. He could barely wait to
see Maggie, having discovered that she also hungered for him. Within moments,
they were making love again on his office couch.

"No regrets?" she had asked after he had told her
about his lies to Carol and his reactions to them. His response was a deep
kiss, traveling down her body to touch every square inch of her.

"I didn't have that problem. I knew Ken was working
late," she had told him. "The odd thing was that I was able to
compartmentalize my guilt. Okay, I told myself. I feel guilt and remorse. No
regrets, mind you. But I am a good wife and mother, so I'll just leave that in
the same compartment with the other. And keep the rest of me free for this, for
you."

"Does that mean we have no consciences?" Eliot
had asked.

"My conclusion was that we mustn't dwell on
that," she had told him, showing what he believed was the depth of her
wisdom. "Let's just let it happen."

"And where do we go when they find out?" he had
asked.

"We mustn't let that happen," she told him,
visibly upset by the idea. For her, he had learned, the principal fear was
hurting Ken and breaking up her family.

"Maybe all this will disappear," he told her.
"Burn out."

"Maybe."

It showed no signs of doing so. In fact, if anything,
things between them became even more intense and adventurous. Inevitably,
though, anxiety began to creep into their relationship.

There was, of course, the fear of discovery, that a wrong
word or action at home might give them away. They were not concerned that they
would be discovered at Eliot's office, reasoning that if they were clever
enough not to arouse suspicion, they would not motivate any desire for further
investigation.

This led them to an exploration of the whole area of
dissimulation.

"There is an actor's art to it," Eliot had told
her. "Like creating a character that is the old Eliot and acting like the
old Eliot would act, using the old Eliot as the role model. I do not respond to
Carol without first measuring the response against how the old Eliot would have
done it."

"Yes," she had agreed. "That would also
explain my own actions in terms of Ken."

There was a measure of security in knowing that they had
successfully managed their situations at home. It did not pressure them to
discuss the future. At least they had each other for five days a week,
sometimes six.

Then other concerns had surfaced. Eliot had discovered
that, despite the clever dissimulation, he was never comfortable being away
from Maggie. It was a yearning that defied logic.

"It's love, my darling," Maggie had explained.

"Being away from you tortures me. It's agony."

"For me as well."

Disturbing images floated through his mind. He saw Maggie
with Ken, making love. It was, after all, perfectly natural between husband and
wife, but it did not stem his jealousy. It opened up more painful explorations
between them, becoming a repetitive litany.

"What happens between you when you make love with
Ken?"

"You mustn't ask," she had responded.
"Notice that I don't ask what happens between you and Carol."

"I can tell you that. I act like the old Eliot. I do
it once a week, a purely mechanical process. It ends when I climax."

"Must you, Eliot?"

"I thought you would like to know."

"No, I wouldn't."

He pressed on.

"Do you climax when Ken makes love to you?"

"No, I don't. I fake it."

"Do you fake it with me?"

Of course, she was insulted. She was silent for a long
time, not pouting exactly, but obviously introspective. Then she raised moist
eyes to his and kissed him deeply and they made love again until she had an
orgasm and he was dead certain that she was not faking.

"I can't bear knowing that you still make love to
him," he told her one day. It was getting increasingly difficult to endure
the pain and tension of their relationship.

"What choice have I?"

"Please don't. Avoid it."

"He's my husband."

"I can't stand it."

"If we don't, it will create all sorts of
problems." She had paused and sighed. "I haven't asked you to stop
with Carol. It would break the pattern, make her suspicious."

Then he began to fear that the pressure was too much for
her to bear, that she would break it off, that she was too guilt-ridden and
fearful that she would hurt Ken and emotionally injure the children.

"Do you want this to end?" he asked her one day.
He had confessed to her that he was growing increasingly paranoid that she
would have to bring things to a conclusion, say good-bye. Her response only
fueled his insecurity.

"Do you?"

He hadn't expected the question, but he had considered it.
A plan was already forming in his mind.

The two questions hung in the air between them as they made
love. He remembered that a thunderstorm raged outside and at each bolt of
lightning and roar of thunder she had clung to him. He had embraced her in the
missionary position and she had begun to accelerate her response.

Suddenly he had pulled away from her.

"Now answer me. Do you want this to end?"

"Please, Eliot."

"Answer me."

She shook her head and pressed his buttocks to her.

"Never," she cried. "Never. Never.
Never."

Later she told him that he had taken unfair advantage.

"Which brings up another question," he told her.
"Is this lust or do you really love me?"

"What is it for you?" she had asked.

"Need," he had responded.

By then, it had become apparent to both of them that the
pressure of living this lie was becoming unbearable.

"Can you leave him?" he had asked.

Apparently she, too, had given the question a great deal of
thought.

"Under the right circumstances, yes I can," she
told him. "I don't want a traumatic rupture, although I believe the
children are at an age where they could weather this. It's Ken I worry about. I
don't want him hurt."

"That's a tall order," he had told her.

"And you? Can you see yourself leaving Carol?"

"That may be easier than you think."

He had already worked it out in his mind. Since his affair
with Maggie was still secret, he did not have to worry about the prenuptial
agreement with Carol. He would simply confront her, tell her that he would like
the marriage ended. No real reason was required. Upon his death, Carol, if she
didn't remarry, would be entitled to inherit those items she had acquired in
her own name during the term of the marriage, and they would divorce. He would
even provide her with the small stipend that was also contained in the
agreement.

"Would she be devastated?" Maggie had asked after
he had explained it to her.

"Hurt, yes," he had said. "Devastated? I
don't think so. Carol would be resilient. She could always support herself
teaching."

"I still feel awful about this," Maggie had said,
then she suddenly brightened. "But relieved."

"Consider it from a purely practical viewpoint,"
Eliot had reasoned. "You and Ken would work out whatever is fair and
practical. The point is that we would be free to enjoy a fine life
together."

She had been overcome with emotion.

"Oh, God, Eliot. I'm so happy."

Unfortunately, it hadn't worked out as he'd intended. A
meeting with his business manager and accountant informed him of the true
nature of his financial affairs. But when he learned the actual worth of
Carol's acquisitions, he was furious.

"It wasn't devious on her part, Mr. Butterfield,"
his accountant told him. "She simply made the right choices."

At first he thought that the best approach now would be to
confront Carol with his financial circumstances, ask her to compromise the
points in their agreement, perhaps even borrow against the value of her
possessions. He rejected that idea, knowing that it would open himself up to a
never-ending lawsuit, especially when Carol found out that he was seeking to
divorce her and marry Maggie.

No, he decided. There had to be another way.

The disclosure stunned Maggie.

"But you're still paying me," she had protested.
"How can you do it?"

"It's called eating into capital," he had
explained. "We are very swiftly working into another financial activity,
borrowing on lines of credit without sufficient backing. In short, in less than
a year, I'll be broke."

"While what she owns has grown in value?"

"That's an understatement, Maggie. She's actually
rich."

"That's not fair."

"No, it's not," he had agreed.

In the end, it was the reality of what was "fair"
that had triggered his imagination and he had conceived this new idea, this
ultimate solution.

"It sounds so ... so wishfully naïve," Maggie
said when he first explained it to her.

"But do you agree that it's an ideal solution? If we
do succeed we restore a balance of fairness to the situation."

Her skepticism was not easily mollified.

"People can't be programmed like computers,
Eliot."

"Why not?"

"Because they're not made up of bytes that have a
predictable response."

"Science may yet dispute that."

"You can't manufacture attraction," Maggie
persisted.

"You can try," Eliot said.

They did not argue about the necessity of Eliot's regaining
possession of his property. It was his property. That was a given. Love was a
wondrous thing, they both agreed, glorious, essential, and marvelous. But so
was money. They did not live in a vacuum, or on a desert island. Money counted.