The Carlton Club (42 page)

Leslie put down the receiver and sighed.

“That was Janet,” Leslie explained to Eric.

“The one who got divorced and is—was?—involved with someone who you think is good for her.” Eric smiled wryly. Leslie and Eric spent almost no time discussing each other’s friends. He accurately summarized the brief description Leslie had given him of Janet a month ago. “Right? Is she a resident?”

“Janet? No,” Leslie said, realizing that she hadn’t even told him Janet’s last name. He would know Janet. Leslie was certain that Eric would have seen
Joanna
and
Peter Pan
. He would be surprised. She smiled. “No, Janet’s an actress.”

The telephone rang again.

“I guess you’ll get to meet her,” Leslie said, assuming it was Janet having decided to come over after all. Leslie answered the phone on the second ring, “Hi. We’ll see you in two hours!”

“Leslie?” the voice echoed a little. It was a familiar but distant voice.

“Mark?”

“Greetings from Boston.”

“Hi! Is Kathleen on the line, too?”

“No, she’s at a bridal shower for a classmate from Vassar. It turns out that she has about as many friends in Boston as she does in San Francisco. She didn’t even know it until we got here.”

“That’s nice for her, since you’re probably busy.”

“We’re both busy. Kathleen’s already joined the major committees and boards, including the repertory theater and the history society!”

He’s so proud of Kathleen, Leslie thought, detecting the love and pride in his voice. She is so good for him.

“How’s your fellowship?”

“Great. The best. Very busy. Very stimulating. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Mark,” she said looking at Eric, shrugging slightly. “Oh, a friend has been reading
Moby Dick
to me. Out loud. It’s wonderful.”

“A friend? Anyone I know?”

“No.”

“Tell me about him. Or is he right there?”

“He’s right here. Looking at me. Wondering who you are.”

“This sounds serious.”

“It is.”

“Well, then, you are both invited to dinner at the Carlton Club in October. We’re flying in for the weekend. It’s the Jordaines’ anniversary. Kathleen is planning a dinner party at the club.”

“The Carlton Club. Maybe I’ll see it yet. Of course, I’m in the intensive care unit at San Francisco General in October.”

“I hope you can come. I’d like to see you.

Kathleen will let you know the specifics.
Moby Dick
, huh? Sounds nice,” he said a little wistfully.

What sounds nice, Leslie wondered. Having someone read it to you? Having time to read it? Anything but medicine?

No, she thought. Mark sounds happy.

“I hope we can come, too, Mark. Give my best to Kathleen,” Leslie said before hanging up. As she slowly replaced the receiver she mused, I wonder why he called.

“That,” she explained to Eric, “was Janet’s ex-husband. How strange for them both to call.”

“Does he belong to the Carlton Club?”

“You’ve heard of the Carlton Club?”

“I am a member of the Carlton Club.”

“I thought it was just very old, very wealthy Atherton with some San Francisco proper thrown in.

“Very proper. It is. But there’s reciprocity with the very old, very wealthy Oak Brook Country Club in Philadelphia. I don’t spend much time at the Carlton Club, but if your friend’s a member, I may know him.”

“His new wife is a member. Kathleen Jordaine was her maiden name.”

“Kathleen. I know Kathleen. We were on the Union Square Theater Board together for about four years.”

“She’s beautiful,” Leslie said, her heart sinking. Has Eric been with Kathleen? Did Kathleen have Mark and Eric?

“Yes, she is. Bright, too,” he said idly, holding his arms out to Leslie, wondering why she wasn’t coming to him. “Leslie?”

“Did you date Kathleen?”

“What? Would you come to me?” Eric waited until he held her in his arms. “I never dated Kathleen Jordaine. I never even considered it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I don’t ever want to meet anyone that you dated,” Leslie said thoughtfully.

“No?” he asked gently, realizing that he felt the same way.

“No.”

Eric was silent. He couldn’t agree to it. Someday, Leslie would met Charlie.

“Oh,” Leslie continued, wondering, “were you on the board when they auditioned for
Joanna?”

“That was my last year. I was just too busy, even though I enjoyed it. I go to all the productions. I even invest in a few.”

“I hope your investing in
San Francisco
, the new one.”

“I am, but how do you know about it? They’re playing it pretty close to the chest, planning a big surprise.”

“Janet is—”

“Janet Wells,” Eric said, searching his memory. He had heard some rumors. Charlie kept him informed, even though he had very little interest in the lives and loves of people he barely knew. Charlie, he mused, frowning slightly. Then he said, “Let’s see, I even head a rumor that she was dating Ross MacMillan.”

“Was. Is. That’s the question. Do you know him?”

“Sure. I think he cares a lot about Janet,” Eric added, surprising himself, realizing that was not information from Charlie. It was his own observation. He remembered the way Ross talked about Janet—the tone of his voice—when he and Eric discussed Eric’s investment in
San Francisco
.

“I hope he does,” Leslie said. She pressed close to Eric. “This is nice. You already know my friends. Or at least my friends’ friends.”

“So, I don’t have to meet them? Good. That’s one less venture into the real world that we have to make.”

“Do you think we’ll always be this antisocial?”

“We’re very social. We’re just limiting our socializing to each other. We’ll make the requisite forays, just like we’ll start working at home, together. Besides, you don’t know my friends. They are already bursting with curiosity.”

“Are there lots of them?”

“Only three. My father and the two people that I work with most closely.” Charlie, he thought, whom I loved and almost married. Would have married. And James, who has become my friend.

“When do I meet them?” Leslie asked, curious but not eager. They had so little time together.

“In November if not before. We’re planning a trip to Maui. It’s at the same time as my birthday, but it’s not a birthday celebration. It’s just a celebration. Can you get away?”

“I think so. I’ll be ready for a celebration in early November. I spend October in the intensive care unit at San Francisco General. For part of the month I’ll be on call every other night.”

“Every
other
night?”

“It won’t be a good month for us,” she said apologetically.

“We’ll manage. We’ll just keep thinking about Maui.”

“Maybe I should meet your friends before November. Will they be annoyed?”

“One will.”
Charlie. The one you don’t want to meet.
“But I’m not going to share you until I have to. And I have to in November.”

“They’re your friends.”

“They’ll be your friends, too,” he said, knowing how much Robert and James would like her, how they would understand why he had just wanted to be alone with her.

And Charlie? How could he ask Charlie to hide their past to protect Leslie? Did he have any right to ask that of Charlie?

He would have to think about it. He would have to think about all the things that he should tell Leslie, all the things he needed to tell her.

He had until November. At least.

Janet arrived at Ross’s security condominium building on Sacramento Street at eleven
P.M.
She used her coded card to activate the locked garage entrance.

I should park on the street, she thought. I should go in the front door and have the doorman announce me.

But then the doorman would know that she and Ross were having problems. For all of July she had lived there with Ross. In July she had belonged there.

And now? What if she asked the doorman to announce her and Ross refused to let her come up?

Janet parked her car in the space, her space, next to Ross’s car. At least he was home. She took a second coded card and activated the elevator.

Her hands trembled.

What am I doing here? she wondered as waves of panic swept through her.

Three and a half hours before, she had left the cottage with a vague plan to visit Leslie after all. She had driven down the coast highway, across the Golden Gate Bridge and into the city. But instead of driving toward Leslie’s apartment on Parnassus Avenue, Janet had driven, without apparent aim, around the city. Without apparent aim except that the drive had ended in Ross’s garage. Was that her subconscious plan all along?

“Hello,” she said when he opened the door. She looked at him briefly, noticing immediately how tired he looked. Then, she looked away, avoiding his eyes, afraid of seeing the anger.

“Hello. Come in,” he said seriously.

The living room was cluttered with pages of script and musical score for
San Francisco
. Ross had been working on the staging for her show.

“You’ve been working.”

“Trying to.”

“August is your vacation month.”

“I didn’t feel like playing,” he said flatly, wondering if she was going to talk to him, if they were going to talk to each other.

Wondering if they were even going to look at each other.

“I’m sorry, Ross. I don’t know what happened.”

“What do you
think
happened?”

“I think,” she said carefully, looking at her hands, “that I was uncomfortable about what you were doing and it suddenly became a big issue. A bigger issue.”

“What’s the bigger issue?” he asked, moving closer to her, trying to make her look at him.

Janet shook her head then whispered, “I don’t know.”

“Sure you do.”

“I
don’t,
” she said, her eyes, turbulent gray thunder clouds, meeting his, finally. “I don’t know.”

“OK,” he said, barely controlling his anger and frustration. “Try this. I am tired of coming in second behind Mark. I’m tired of losing to Mark, to the
memory
of Mark. I can’t do it. I won’t do it anymore.”

“
Mark?
What do you mean?”

“Remember Mark’s and Kathleen’s engagement party? Remember their wedding? No, of course you don’t,” he said bitterly. “You didn’t go. We didn’t go.”

“I thought you understood. You said that you didn’t resent it at the time,” she pleaded. “You said, then, that you just wanted to be with me.”

“I’ve reconsidered it in light of the present situation.”

“That’s not fair.”

“All’s fair, isn’t it?” Ross asked casually, knowing that it wasn’t fair. He had understood why she couldn’t see Mark and Kathleen. He hadn’t resented it once he understood, but there were other examples. “You wouldn’t sing to me, remember? That was because of Mark, wasn’t it?”

“It was partly because of Mark, I guess, but it was mostly because I didn’t really know you,” she said thoughtfully. She added quietly, “I sing for you now.”

“And now this,” Ross said quickly. Janet did sing for him now. Privately. Whenever he asked.

“This?”

“I can only make love to you in a certain way. Part of you still belongs to Mark,” he said bitterly.

“No,” she said, tears spilling from her stormy eyes as relief began to sweep through her. Had he simply misinterpreted? Could they find a way out of this after all? Maybe. Maybe.

“No?” he asked, confused, encouraged by the half smile on her lips despite the tears.

“
No
, Ross. Mark never touched me there. No one has,” she said, embarrassed, almost apologetic until she saw the look in his eyes as the meaning of her words settled. Ross looked happy. Happy. And amazed. And concerned.

“Then why? Why did you stop me?” he asked gently.

“I didn’t know what you were doing. What I was supposed to do,” she said quietly, shrugging slightly.

Ross held her then, kissing her tears, blinking away his own. He had almost lost her because of a foolish misunderstanding that was rooted in his own ill-founded jealousy of Mark. Ross had never been jealous of anyone in his life. And, maybe, he needn’t be jealous of Mark.

It was just that he wanted her so much.

“Oh, Janet,” he whispered. Lovely, timid, naive Janet.

PART FOUR

San Francisco, California . . . September
1982

James glanced idly at the appointment calendar on his desk, then paused, staring at the date written in script at the top of the page: September twelfth.

September twelfth. Leslie’s birthday. One year ago today he had taken her to dinner.

James smiled. He could smile now, again, when he thought about Leslie. He hoped that she was happy, as he was. He hoped that she would find someone to love as much as he loved Lynne. And that, someday, she would have a child.

A child. James thought about Michael, his beloved son. He felt so lucky. He had Michael, and he had Lynne. His life was full—overflowing—with love and joy.

It would be safe to call Leslie, to wish her Happy Birthday and happiness.

A knock at his door interrupted James’s reverie.

“Yes?”

“May I come in?” It was Charlie, looking like a corporate attorney but smiling a soft, womanly smile for James.

“Of course. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Not true.
Everything
. But nothing that involves you. I’m just seeking refuge in your office.”

“Be my guest,” James said, smiling, gesturing to the couch that got no use by him but looked so comfortable.

“Thanks,” she said, slipping off her heels and sinking into the couch. “I am so glad you’re here. I used to be able to escape into Eric’s office.”

“But?”

“He’s no fun anymore. All business.”

“You’re all business, too. Except you’re more efficient than me or Eric so you can indulge in these little breaks.”

“Eric used to like the breaks.”

“He’s preoccupied,” James said, defending Eric. James had never had a friend like Eric. James had never met a man he liked, respected or trusted as much.

“Yes,” Charlie agreed.

“He’s in love. He wants to get as much work done here as possible, so he’ll be able to be with her. Is that so bad?” James asked. It was what James did, too, so that he would have as much time as possible to be with Michael and Lynne. Still, he usually had to work in the evenings, after they put Michael to bed. He knew that Eric and Charlie worked at home in the evenings and on weekends. They all did. They all had to.

“No,” Charlie said wistfully. “It’s not bad at all.”

“Charlie, what’s really bothering you?” he asked suddenly.

“I miss him, James. Not just the little breaks,” she said wryly. “I miss the evenings and the nights and the weekends and the trips.”

“Oh,” James said slowly. “I didn’t know. I knew you were close.”

So Eric hasn’t told him about us, Charlie thought. How could he? The story of Eric and Charlie wasn’t complete without the part about the little boy who had died. And neither Eric nor Charlie would tell James, whose life had been made perfect by the birth of his son, about Bobby.

“We’ve known each other, cared about each other, for a long time,” Charlie said thoughtfully. Then she added something she had never told Eric. Something she had admitted to herself only recently because she had to. “I thought we might even get married someday, after all, if neither of us found someone else. Sort of by default.”

“Default?”
James gasped. He couldn’t imagine either Eric or Charlie doing anything by default. They were both so confident, so competent, so controlled. Controlled and in control. They didn’t make mistakes. They didn’t run their lives by default. But Charlie was serious.

“Long story,” she said shrugging, smiling slightly. “Anyway, it’s a moot point now. I think he’s really in love, don’t you?”

“I think so,” James said gently, wondering how much the fact of Eric being in love hurt her. He couldn’t tell.

“Do you know anything about her?”

“Not even her name. He told me that she is coming to the opening of the resort on Maui in November.”

“I didn’t know that,” Charlie said softly, her stomach aching slightly. She would meet Eric’s love, get to know her and probably like her. It would be nice to have it behind her. In two months it would be behind her. “Are Lynne and Michael coming?”

“Sure.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting Lynne. And Michael,” Charlie said truthfully. “I guess everything worked out just like you said it would.”

“It worked out, Charlie, but not the way I thought it would. You were right. Lynne knew about it. She knew from the beginning.”

“She knew about Leslie?”

“I can’t believe you remember her name!” James exclaimed. “She knew there was someone. She didn’t—she still doesn’t—know who it was, except that she was someone I knew from high school. Anyway, it’s a long story, too. But, fortunately, we survived it.”

“More than survived. You seem very happy.”

“I am. I’d also really like you to meet Lynne and Michael before November. Why don’t you come over for dinner?”

“James, you are so nice. I’m OK, really.”

“I know you’re OK, but I really want you to meet my family. This Friday, how’s that?”

“That’s fine, James, thank you. I’m looking forward to it,” she said. She put on her shoes and got ready to leave, the break over. She paused at the door. “I really am looking forward to meeting them.”

After Charlie left, James reached for the phone to call Lynne, to let her know that he had invited Charlie for dinner. As he dialed the phone, he thought again about calling Leslie.

He wouldn’t do it. It was safe—like their affair was safe—unless Lynne found out. It wasn’t worth it. James wouldn’t do anything that could jeopardize his life with Lynne and Michael.

“This is déjà vu,” he said.

Leslie spun around. She was in the small lab near the intensive care unit at the San Francisco General Hospital running a blood gas. It was three o’clock in the afternoon on Saturday, October sixteenth.

“Mark!” “Hi.”

“Hi. Please withhold your déjà vu comments until after I’ve done the gas and we can get out of here,” Leslie said, shivering involuntarily as she remembered the last time she and Mark were here together. The day he was shot. “How are you? You look good.”

Mark looked handsome, his dark handsomeness enhanced by the fatigue in his eyes and the strain on his face, but he did not, really, look good.

Something is wrong, Leslie thought. Something that would make him spend part of his brief visit to Atherton for Kathleen’s parents’ anniversary at the hospital on Saturday afternoon with her.

“I’m fine. We’re sorry that you can’t come to the party tonight.”

“But this is really the mountain coming to Mohammed.”

“I wanted to see you,” he said.

“That’s really nice,” Leslie said. Why? she wondered. She looked at his serious eyes and knew that he was going to tell her.

“You really love this, don’t you?” he asked. It was more of a statement than a question. An uncomprehending, wistful statement of fact.

“And you really don’t,” she said, looking at him. That was what he wanted to talk about. Finally.

“I like parts of it,” he said swiftly.

He’s still trying to convince himself, Leslie thought, still not allowing himself to quit.

“What parts don’t you like?”

Mark hesitated. Then he said carefully, “I don’t like the sadness. I don’t like to see people who are sick, who are dying.”

Who does? Leslie thought. I’m not a doctor because I
like
to see sickness and death. I’m a doctor because I want to help. But this isn’t about why I’m a doctor. It’s about helping Mark decide not to be one.

“What bothers you about it?” she asked, curious.

“It makes me feel sad. It makes me feel like I’m dying. It affects my whole life,” he said. “It makes it all seem a little hopeless.”

“Then let it
go
, Mark. Get out of it,” Leslie said emphatically. “Get out before it destroys you and Kathleen.”

Or, she thought, before you destroy yourself. She had wondered once before, in this tiny lab, if Mark had a death wish. Now she worried that he might see no way out but by his own death. What if he joined forces with the death and sadness that consumed him? What if, instead of fighting it, like she did, he gave in to it?

What if.

“I’m worried about you,” she said seriously.

“Don’t be, Leslie. I’m all right,” he said unconvincingly. “I go for weeks at a time really enjoying my fellowship.”

“And then?”

“And then I go through periods of doubt. Don’t you?” he asked hopefully.

That’s why he’s here, Leslie thought. To have me tell him that it’s normal to feel the way he feels. To have me convince him not to quit.

“I feel the sadness. You know that. And sometimes I think it would be easier, emotionally easier, to be doing something else. But,” she said firmly, “I don’t feel consumed by the sadness or the death. Mark, what about your interest in English? In writing?”

“I think about it a lot.”

“Do it,” Leslie said urgently. “What does Kathleen think?”

“I haven’t discussed it with her. I don’t know what she’d think.”

“Well, you know for a fact that she didn’t marry you because you’re a doctor,” Leslie said, remembering the conversation that she and Kathleen had had the night Mark was shot. She married him in spite of the fact.

“I do know that?” Mark asked, surprised.

“You should know that. If I know it, and I do, you should. Mark, you really should involve Kathleen in this,” Leslie said carefully. She didn’t want to offend him. Was he making the same mistakes with Kathleen that he had made with Janet? Was he shutting her out? “Kathleen must notice that you are worrying about something.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just wanted to discuss it with you, as long as I was in town,” Mark said lightly. “So, tell me about Eric. Kathleen thinks he’s terrific.”

Kathleen’s fingers trembled as she dialed the number. This was a desperate idea, but she was desperate.

Ross answered on the fourth ring.

“Ross, it’s Kathleen.”

“Hi, welcome home. Sorry I won’t see you this trip, but—”

“I know, I understand. Maybe I’ll come back for opening night of
San Francisco
next month. In fact, that’s sort of what I called about. Is Janet there?” she asked.

“She’s gone for a walk on the beach. Why?”

There was a long silence. When Kathleen spoke again, Ross heard the emotion in her voice.

“I just wanted to talk to her,” Kathleen said shakily.

“To Janet? Katie, honey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong. Something’s wrong with Mark.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s moody. Sometimes he’s fine, sometimes he withdraws from me. I thought he might be depressed. I read his textbooks. He doesn’t have the classic symptoms of depression. He was like this a little before we got married. I thought he was just getting over his divorce. I don’t know, Ross. Sometimes I think he regrets that he married me.” Kathleen was crying.

“Katie. No one would ever regret marrying you.”

“Thanks,” she sniffed. “But Ross, Mark is unhappy and he’s married to me. Those are the facts.”

“Why do you want to talk to Janet?” he asked uneasily.

“I just wanted to know if he was like this with her. Do you know?”

“I don’t know. We don’t really talk about her marriage to Mark,” he said. And, he thought, I don’t want to.

“Will you ask her if she’ll talk to me about it?”

“Katie.”

“Ross, please. If she won’t, she won’t.”

“If you want me to I will,” he said hesitantly. Who was he protecting? Janet? Their relationship? Everything had been so perfect since August. “Where is Mark now, anyway? Isn’t he with you?”

“He’s in the city visiting Leslie at the hospital.”

Leslie, Ross thought. Mark’s friend. Janet’s friend. Eric Lansdale’s love.

“Why don’t you talk to Leslie? Maybe she knows what’s wrong with Mark,” he suggested.

“I can’t talk to Leslie about this. Really, Ross. She thought I was wrong for Mark from the beginning.”

“What?” Ross asked, amazed. “How could you be wrong for Mark? For anyone?”

“I don’t know. I just got the feeling Leslie thought I was a gold digger.”

“You’re the
gold
.”

“Well, an emotional gold digger, then: too trivial for Mark, not sincere enough. I don’t know. I just know that Leslie doesn’t approve of me. I can’t talk to her,” Kathleen said then paused. What am I doing? she wondered. She added slowly, “And I can’t talk to Janet, either. It was a dumb, impulsive idea.”

“Katie, I will ask her if you want me to. If it might help,” Ross said.

“It won’t help. Not really. This is my problem. I guess I just wanted to tell someone.
You
.” Kathleen tried to sound positive.

“I’m sorry about this, honey.”

“I know you are, Ross. Thank you. I’ve got to go,” Kathleen said suddenly, fighting back tears.