Remember the Time (10 page)

M
ike barreled through his back door as if the hounds of hell pursued him. “Jesus H. Christ, Fitzgerald! What the hell came over you?” he yelled at the kitchen walls.

There was no answer to his anguished question, only the sibilant sound of the icemaker refilling.

“What kind of a stupid-ass thing was that to say?”

He wished he could turn back the clock … just get that last hour back in hand and under control. If only she hadn’t brought up Allison. Sweet Allison, who had put up with so much. What a shit he’d been.

He was still living in Richmond at the time. They met at a two-day preservation seminar he was teaching for the University of Richmond in the summer of 1991. When Allison Barclay walked into the conference room he’d glanced up from his paperwork and found himself staring. She was a petite woman with long strawberry-blond hair. Fair-skinned, blue-eyed. Any resemblance to a Southern belle ended there. She was incredibly confident and, he found a little later, extremely outspoken. Mike was drawn to her from the start, but for the life of him couldn’t figure out why.
Not my type
kept
running through his mind. And yet, there was something. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Her smile? Her attitude?

During the afternoon break, while the smokers headed for the outdoors, Allison had perched on the end of the twenty-foot conference table and asked, “So, do your interests run to
everything
old?” He’d looked up from his papers, startled. His heart beat a little faster as he’d grinned and replied, “No. There’s something to be said for the novel and untried.” Her eyes never left his as she’d said, “I deeply believe in novelty.”

They’d hit it off instantly, and before the seminar had ended the next day, he had asked her to dinner. God, she’d been amazing. Bright, funny, beautiful. As he sat across the table from her, he’d almost told her about Kate. Thinking back on it now, it would have been for the best. Maybe if he’d said something then, the aura that surrounded Kate would have been diffused into a somewhat less volatile mixture. Maybe Allison would have understood a little better what she had gotten herself into. And maybe things could have turned out differently.

Mike remembered being surprised he’d never seen her before. His offices were down the block from the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, where she was a research assistant. As a member, he liked eating his lunch in their courtyard restaurant, sometimes twice a week. She explained she’d only been with the museum for two months and went home for lunch. They exchanged phone numbers, and he called her the next week. Three weeks later, she gave him the key to her apartment, since he was spending most of his nights there. His own town house in Richmond’s Fan District became a stopover. He’d taken her there only a few times.

A couple of weeks later, while they were lying in bed, Allison had asked point-blank, “Do you love me, Mike?”

“Didn’t I just prove that I do?”

“Wrong answer.” She rolled over to look at him. “Why can’t you say it?”

“Okay, I love you.”

“Oh, very romantic.” But she’d smiled. “Why don’t we move in together?”

“I thought we practically had.”

“The operative word is ‘practically.’ Wouldn’t we be more comfortable at your place? It’s so much bigger, and it’s going to waste. Don’t you miss it?”

He tried to keep his voice indifferent, but the trepidation crept out. “Are you saying you want to move in with me?”

Allison heard the unspoken misgiving and ignored it. “Yes, I am. It’s easier for me to give up my apartment than for you to sell or rent out your house.” Her fingers traced the hard, tanned bicep of his upper arm, glided across the dark, silky hair of his forearm, and came to rest on his knuckles. “What do you say, lover?”

By August first, she’d sublet her apartment, stored most of her furniture, and moved into his town house. He helped her carry in the three suitcases and fifteen boxes, and watched her unpack into the spaces he’d made for her.

Mike found he enjoyed the arrangement and the domesticity. He could almost convince himself that he’d forgotten Kate, with Allison to hold every night. Their lifestyles meshed well. His short business trips, which had always been reprieves from his lonely life, became even more pleasurable because he had Allison to come home to.

Mike wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d gone through women like Sherman went through Georgia, but he didn’t think of himself as a user. He was truly looking for the right one. Unfortunately, none of them could match his ideal—his Kate. When he could see things weren’t going to work out, he’d always been honest with them all, even though his candor had usually ended up hurting
them. But Allison seemed to almost fill the place in his heart he’d reserved for Kate Armstrong.

And so by September first he’d asked her to marry him. Their wedding was a civil ceremony. He didn’t tell Sheryl till the next day, when they drove through Clinton, Maryland, on their way to Washington, DC. “It’ll be a working honeymoon,” he’d warned Allison. “You consider that work?” she’d jokingly pouted.

His parents never even got to meet her. By the time Mike was able to get away to Tampa to see them, he and Allison had already split up.

He’d never brought up Kate or Paul. He avoided the subject of his hometown when he could. But the Armstrongs were due back in Staunton in a little over a month, and he knew it was just a matter of time before Kate invited the newlyweds for a visit.

Mike wanted this marriage to work. And then they’d gone to that damned New Year’s Eve party.

“You know Paul Armstrong?” Allison asks in amazement
.

She holds up a framed photograph of Paul and Mike that Kate had taken the year Paul won the Gold Glove award for the first time. Allison rarely enters his study while he is working, and never comes in when he isn’t there. Her respect for his privacy is one of the things he really appreciates about her.

“We grew up together.”

“Wow,” she says, putting the frame back in its place on the library table. And then she spots the only photo of Kate he allows himself to display. Actually, it is one of her wedding photos. Kate and Paul standing on the steps of Saint Francis Catholic Church, with Kate looking at Paul, and Paul laughing into the camera. The picture serves as a reminder that she really does belong to someone else, and that someone else is his best friend. It is a humbling experience every time he looks at it.

“Aren’t they the perfect couple?” she exclaims. “They’re both gorgeous.”

Mike says nothing. Instead, he takes Allison in his arms and kisses her desperately
.

When Paul calls in December it is only the third time they’ve talked that winter.

“What’s up, bud? We haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Work’s keeping me pretty busy,” Mike answers
.

“Yeah, work and Allison. Am I right?”

“When you’re right, you’re right.”

“Well, you and Allison need to get yourselves over here for New Year’s Eve. Kate’s planning a big one. It’s ‘come as your favorite movie character.’ We’re giving out prizes for best costume, and best performance.”

Mike winces. “Best performance?”

“Yeah, everyone has to do a scene from the movie their character’s from.”

Now Mike groans. “Who are you going as?”

“Crash Davis,” Paul answers, naming the down-on-his-luck baseball player Kevin Costner has made popular in the movie
Bull Durham.

“Quite a stretch for you,” Mike states sarcastically. “Don’t tell me Kate’s going as Annie Savoy?”

“She told me not to tell. So, we’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Can’t wait to meet Allison.”

Suddenly Kate’s voice comes on the line. “Yeah, and I hope she’s more fun than that Marla.”

“Mara,” Mike corrects her. “And the woman I’m married to is named Allison. Can you try and remember that? Al-li-son.”

Kate’s throaty laugh makes him weak
.

“Remember what I told you,” Mike says as they pull in front of the Armstrongs’ house the afternoon of December 31. “Don’t take anything Kate says or does too seriously.”

“Stop worrying. This is going to be fun.”

Mike steps out of the car, muttering, “Yeah. Fun.”

Paul meets them at the door, and as Mike introduces Allison he sees a look of incomprehension cross his friend’s face
.

Allison enters the house, and Paul draws Mike aside and says, “Not your usual type.” Mike knows what he means is, she’s not like Kate, and he replies, “You’re wrong.”

The two men find the two women face-to-face in the hallway. They have already introduced themselves and are shaking hands. Mike watches Kate’s face, concerned at what he sees
.

Kate’s scrutiny of Allison is unnerving. He isn’t sure, having never seen it before, but he thinks it is a look of jealousy. And for the life of him, he can’t understand why. But when Kate sees Mike, her face lights up and she is suddenly coquettish. Almost possessive in the way she takes his arm; the way she kisses his cheek. And then he knows they are all in trouble when she whispers, “I’ve been practicing my performance for two weeks. I’m betting you’ll like it.”

Mike attempts to smile, as he hisses back, “Kate, I’m warning you, don’t fuck this up for me. I’ve already told her all about you and your parties.”

She stands back, grinning. “Let me show you up to the guest room, Allison. The party starts at eight, so we have plenty of time to get to know each other.” Kate takes her arm and leads Allison up the stairs, saying, “I can’t believe Mike is finally married.”

Mike has wandered downstairs a little past seven and is fixing himself a drink when Paul joins him
.

“You’d think there would be a time in your life when you wouldn’t want to wear a baseball uniform,” Mike comments
.

“Yeah, but look how good I look in it.”

Through his connections, Paul has gotten an authentic Durham Bulls home uniform and has had the number 20 sewn on the back. It is the only time he hasn’t worn the number he started the majors with—5
.

“You look pretty sharp, Marshal Kane.”

Mike does his best Gary Cooper “aw shucks” grin and lifts his black Stetson with his middle finger. The gesture isn’t lost on Paul
.

When Allison saw Mike’s outfit from
High Noon
for the first time just a few minutes earlier, she seductively circled him,
eyeing the long-sleeved white shirt, black vest complete with star-shaped badge, the tight black jeans and black boots, and had growled. His gun belt rode low on his hips and she pressed up against him, saying, “Is that your gun, or are you just happy to see me?” Allison wore only a merry widow and stockings. He had replied, “A little of both, ma’am.”

Now, Allison’s voice asks, “Well, what do you think, boys?”

The two men turn. Mike’s face breaks into a broad smile that wavers when he hears Paul say, “Uh-oh.”

Mike tears his eyes from Allison, who is walking into the living room, and looks at Paul. “What do you mean, ‘uh-oh’?” And then he sees Kate coming down the staircase, and he distinctly says, “Oh, shit.”

Two gorgeous, redheaded women. Two strapless, curve-hugging, floor-length, slit-to-the-crotch, black satin dresses. Two pairs of long black satin gloves. Two pairs of black ankle-strap high heels. Two “Rita Hayworths.” Two Gildas. And two pairs of stunned blue eyes
.

Kate is the first to break the awkward silence, when she throws back her head and laughs. “Great minds think alike!” Mike, preparing himself for the worst, is relieved when Kate puts her arm around Allison’s waist and says, “Are you the two luckiest men in the world, or what?”

Mike takes his eyes off Kate to see how Allison is taking it, and he can see she isn’t taking it well. He honestly thought it would have been the other way around. Mike quickly goes to Allison, who has wriggled out from Kate’s hold on her
.

“You look amazing,” he says, kissing her on the lips. “The wig is the perfect touch.”

She looks up at him, eyes narrowed slightly, and mouths the words, “I don’t believe this.”

He shrugs, whispering, “This is going to be fun. Remember?”

But his eyes stray to Kate and the amount of skin she is showing. Something is different about her, but he can’t put his finger on what she’s changed
.

By the time the guests start arriving, Allison’s discomfort has subsided. Each time a new couple comes in the door, the talk
centers around their costumes, and by nine o’clock the house on Frazier Street is filled with people talking, eating, laughing, and dancing. The two Gildas have become the clichéd joke of the evening, when nearly every person who is introduced to Allison says, “Haven’t we met somewhere?”

The insanity begins in earnest when Kate announces the start of the auditions. After an hour of hilarious renditions of scenes that go from
Gone With the Wind
to
The Godfather,
Kate yells, “Take five, everybody! I think I wet my pants,” and she turns the stereo up again and goes into the kitchen to put a fresh batch of hors d’oeuvres in the oven
.

Allison, sitting on Mike’s lap during the entertainment, says, “I’m going to see if she needs any help.”

Allison enters the kitchen and asks, “What can I do?”

“Oh, good! A helper.” Kate straightens up, closing the oven door. “Could you get the rest of the vegetable platters out of the fridge?”

Allison is removing the plastic wrap from the trays when she notices Kate standing at the counter, preparing another bowl of chili dip. “Don’t you want to put on an apron?”

“There’s an idea,” Kate answers, holding up hands covered with the cheese she is grating. “Would you mind tying it on for me?”

Allison stands behind Kate. “You’ve got something on your dress back here.” She starts to brush at the tan-colored stain that has appeared where the zipper starts on the dress. Kate whirls around, startling her
.