The First Wives Club (55 page)

She pulled the sheet up over Diana’s shoulder and tucked it in. Brenda was happy. She had enough money, she had a new job, good friends, she had her self-respect back, and she was loved. How long can this last?

she wondered, and them grimaced to herself. Cynicism was the old Brenda, and now she recognized it as a sign of her despair. As long as this lasts, it lasts, she told herself. Some people never get it at all. I’m one of the very lucky ones.

Okay, so who else would call themselves lucky to wake up a middleaged, divorced, fat lesbian? Brenda asked herself. Well, maybe not fat anymore, she admitted. Maybe just chubby. But definitely the other three. Lesbian. She was trying hard to get used to the word, to the idea. Lesbian, queer, dyke, femme, diesel, gay, whatever. Brenda Cushman, girl queer. She turned again to look at Diana. If loving Diana made her a lesbian, then she was proud of it. Because loving Diana was a great thing to do.

And Anthony and Angela seemed to like Diana, too. She wasn’t sure what they suspected, but so far she’d laid low on the sex issue. In fact, she was laying low with the kids in general. Just yesterday Anthony had called her, and Angela complained that she wasn’t getting to see her mother often enough. Brenda had to laugh at the turnaround. Well, maybe she had been a little overinvolved before.

Now she was too busy to intrude too much on their lives. Work at Paradise/Loest was fascinating, and she really felt as if she was contributing. And Diana was enthusiastic about everything, from a new restaurant to a great book to an emerging stand-up comic. And the sex!

Even now, awake alone in the dark, Brenda had to blush. She had never realized that sex could be like this, so in tune, so sensuous, and yet so romantic. Brenda shook her head. If she was a deviant, a queer, whatever, so she was. It had been there since she was a very young girl. This was who she was and she was never going to give herself up again. Her only prayer was that Diana would keep loving her.

Because love, however it came, was always such a miracle.

Gil stretched out in the wide, comfortable first-class seat. As always, he had bought two tickets so that he wouldn’t be troubled by someone next to him during the eighteen-hour flight from Tokyo to Kennedy. Even in first class, you could be stuck with any kind of moron these days. BUt more important, this way no one would see his godawful fear of flying. Not even Kingston. Especially Kingston, who might spread it round the office.

A flight attendant offered him a blanket. These oriental women were charming, absolutely born to serve. Gil took two of the blankets, told her he had a bit of flu and wanted to sleep it off. Then he took two Seconals, washed down by a sip of champagne. Takeoffs were the worst.

He’d get through that and then conk out.

He thought of his meetings this last week and grimaced. The trip, supposed to last six days, had stretched out into more than three weeks. Oriental men werent charming at all. They were obstreperous little monkeys, but in the end he had managed it. And against hellish odds. The Japanese banks initially were hesitant to partner up with an American on the verge of taking over one of their own, despite the huge rewards. He presented his proposals, how he’d buy out Maibeibi, sell off several of the divisions, how they’d recoup all their investment off that and still own the central, profitable core. It was a classic case of having your cake and eating it, too. In the end, they’d caved in to avarice, just as, again and again, he had seen their American cousins do.

The only thing that troubled him was the damn lost file. Mary had sworn she’d put everything in the portfolio he’d taken with him, but some of the data was missing. e certainly hadn’t mislaid it, he knew that. But when he’d left her, she had not been thinking well. And if she was angry, and she had been, she might have done anything with it, out of spite.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It wasn’t only the takeoff that was making him squirm. Perhaps the three weeks had been a good thing from that point of view. Time to forgive, to forget. He regretted the incident. He was determined not to fall into a hateful pattern the way he had with Cynthia. It was stupid. He wasn’t the kind of man who hit women. He turned to look at the briefcase beside him. In it he had an exquisite opera-length pearl necklace, triple strand, a Christmas gift and peace offering to Mary. He was sorry and he longed for the comfort of Mary’s body.

He loved her. This incident, unfortunate as it was, would blow over.

He’d taken care of the Japanese, he’d take care of Mary, and then he’d make his move with Maibeibi. Kingston had already put in the buy order. They were ripe as a cherry for picking, and he was determined to have his way. Then he’d be the undisputed king of the hill. No one had pulled off a coup like this. It made the others look like pikers.

And it wasn’t just the money. It was the prestige. He’d be recognized by everyone for this.

Meanwhile, Mary lay alone in the big canopied bed of the Fifth Avenue apartment. It was almost five A.M. New York time, but Mary wasn’t sleeping. Beside her, the ice pack that she had used to reduce the discoloration of her eyes was still lying across the Porthault pillowcase. Just me and my icepack, she thought grimly. The swelling had taken almost two weeks to heal, but somehow she didn’t want to give up the relic. The humiliation of showing up at work, of going to the benefit committee meeting, of sitting with Gunilla Goldberg and Bette Bloogee, her eye swollen shut! It had discolored first to an angry purple, then a green, then, after more than a week, an ugly yellow.

Even now, alone in bed, she felt the pain of it. Everyone staring, then quickly averting their eyes.

The benefit was only two weeks away, and she couldn’t imagine how she would attend. For years and years she had plotted, worked her ass off, sucked up to so many idiots, struggled to get into the center of things, into the elite world of wealth and power and talent and achievement. She wasn’t especially beautiful, and she had no unique talent. So she’d just plugged away, hoping the right opportunity would come along. And now, now that she was nearly there, this had to happen.

What would she do? Leave Gil and try to make it on her own? She wasn’t so stupid as to try it-she knew that for now she was here on sufferance. Gunilla, Anne Paradise, Lally Snow, Bette Bloogee, all of them would simply wait and watch her stying power. It would take a few years, at least, to solidify her position. But how could she stand to stay with Gil? How could she?

She still couldn’t believe that Gil had hit her, that he had had the nerve, the complete lack of respect. Even Bobby, for all his faults and with all his macho foolishness, even Bobby had never dared to hit her. Mary lay there, on the hundred-thousand-dollar, rice-pattern-carved, four-poster Sheraton bed in the apartment that had cost close to a million dollars a room, and she realized that she had never felt so impoverished. And hurt. So badly hurt. How could a man who loved her do this? She couldn’t sleep, and she couldn’t think of what to do. She tried to imagine packing and leaving, but her practical side would never allow that. Oh, no. Not after all you’ve been through. You’re notorious now. Who would hire you? No Excuses jeans? But if she stayed, she’d have to reconcile with Gil. Go to the Fantasie FunFaire with him. Appear in public With him, work With him, live with him, sleep With him.

“Never,” she said aloud, shifting in the big, empty bed. She’d never let him inside her again. How could she stay, yet how could she go?

Again and again, in the weeks since he’d left for Japan, she had gone over and over this. No way to stay, no way to go.

Quietly she cried. But the tears still hurt her bruised eye. Oh, if only she could cuddle up to someone, warm herself against Bobby’s back, be held, be comforted. She’d like to be with him right now. Just for a little while. If only she could have an orgasm, a release, she could sleep. She had to get some sleep. Slowly, she let her hand creep down between her legs and thought of Bobby. His hands were enormous, his legs were so long. And his dick! She felt a little shiver pass over her. It had been difficult to get excited about that part of Gil after Bobby. Now she wouldn’t have to try. “Bobby,” she whispered as her fingers slipped inside the moistness his image had caused. “Oh, Bobby.”

Duarto woke suddenly and didn’t have to open his eyes to know Asa wasn’t in bed next to him. Now that Duarto had gotten used to it —and surprisingly quickly—it was almost a sixth sense that woke him tonight, telling him that he was alone. It was different, this aloneness.

Different from all those nights he had been sleeping alone since Richard died. It was different because, lately, he was falling asleep with Asa beside him, almost every night.

There had been no declaration of undying love, no decision to move in together. In fact, there had been no decision at all. Each day they approached as a new day. Duarto took nothing for granted, nor, it seemed to him, did Asa. Each day seemed to lead to another day, another date. It had evolved.

Without a decision, Asa spent more and more time at Duarto’s apartment jUSt off Fifth Avenue at Tenth Street. Slowly, Duarto began to make room for Asa’s clothes in a closet, then Asa would come by with groceries and cook dinner, then Duarto found himself giving Asa his extra key. Asa still kept his apartment, but it seemed ridiculous to be paying rent for a place he never used anymore.

Duarto looked up at the ceiling, unable to make out the trompe l’oeil blue sky and white clouds he had painted there. If Asa was in the bathroom, he was there a long time. Duarto sat up, suddenly afraid.

No light leaked out under the bathroom door. “Asa?” he called out.

When he got no response, Duarto jumped out of bed and walked onto the balcony overlooking the livingroom in his studio duplex. “Asa?” he called out again in the darkness.

Duarto heard a sound, then was able to make out Asa, sitting on the sofa looking out onto the street through the two-story-high window, his figure now becoming distinct in the light from the streetlamp.

“Asa,” Duarto said as he came down the stairs and walked over to him.

Asa sat forward, his elbows on his bare knees, his face in his hands.

He was crying. Duarto went up to him and touched Asa’s shoulder, but didn’t say anything. He wanted Asa to know he was there.

After a moment, Asa’s sobs began to subside, and he spoke. “Oh, God, Duarto, I have something terrible to tell you. You’re going to hate me.”

Duarto felt his knees tremble, and he sank down on the floor on his buttocks before his legs gave out. He didn’t want to ask. He wanted this to be a dream, but he knew it wasn’t. Asa’s skin was warm under his touch. He couldn’t bear the thought of what Asa had to tell him.

He knew. After Richard, after all those men he knew who were dead, nothing had to be said.

Nor did Duarto want the words spoken, as if giving them sounds would give them life. He couldn’t go through this again. Asa couldn’t expect him to. After all the care he had given the dying, after all the loss, why now, why more?

But he also knew he couldn’t not care about, and care for, this man.

Asa had become central to his life. He tried to swallow the anger he suddenly felt at Asa.

Why didn’t you tell me earlier, you bastard? Before I fell in love with you? Before I made a commitment?

Then he shuddered. Oh, Jesus, if he’s sick, we haven’t been having safe sex.

He told me he was negative, and celibate for five years. God, God, don’t let him be a liar. Please, I’ll take care of him if he’s sick.

Just don’t let him have lied to me.

“Asa, I don’t theenk I can ever hate chou. What’s wrong? Have you lied to me about sometheeng?

Tell me, Asa.” Asa shook his head, and Duarto pushed on. He had to hear it all, right now.

‘Tell me the truth now, Asa.”

Asa gulped his sobs, then, his voice a whisper, said, “I’m in trouble, Duarto. I sold out to Gil Griffin. I’m in trouble with the SEC, they’re investigating Gil for stock fraud. They’ll get me, too. I wrote a column for money. Gil paid me.” Asa began to cry again.

“Don’t hate me, Duarto.

Please.”

Duarto stood up, feeling giddy with joy. “Thees is what you cry about, Asa? The SEC?”

Asa nodded his head. “I could be arrested.”

Duarto leaned his head back and bayed like a wolf at the moon, then rolled over on the carpet and began to laugh. Asa lifted his head, shock showing on his face. ‘Duarto, are you crazy? What are you laughing at?”

“You’re alive, and I’m alive,” he said, then came over to Asa and put his arms around him. “I thought you were going to tell me you were seeck, that you had …”

“What? No, I’m not sick. I’m in perfect health. But, Duarto, don’t you see how serious this is? I’m in big trouble.”

“No,” Duarto shouted. “You are not een trouble. Lyeeng een a hospital bed with tubes in your arms, that’s trouble. The SEC? That’s only a problem. A legal problem. That’s why the devil made lawyers.” He hugged Asa.

“Now come back to bed. Everytheeng weel be okay.”’ “Oh, Larry,” Elise was whispering at that moment. He was inside her again, moving so very slowly, coming so very deeply inside her. They had gone to bed, exhausted after the day of work, and slept for five hours.

since the day after the funeral, she and Larry had been inseparable.

And it was marvelous. He made her laugh, he held her when she cried, he pampered her when she wasn’t busy pampering him. Now he had awakened her. Only a young man would do it. A young man in love. She felt alive, awake, refreshed. Five-fifteen in the morning was fine with her. There was no more confusing Greenwich time, no blurriness.

She hadn’t had a drink since her bargain with Brenda, though she’d come close. But now work and love were making her happy. Happy and sober.

She looked up at his face, and he smiled at her, so sweetly, and stopped moving long enough to lean down and cover her forehead with kisses.

“Darling, beautiful Elise. I love you so much.”

Once again, as usual, Elise felt tears spring to her eyes. Once again, Larry paused, but by now he had accepted the fact that her happiness made her cry, and he wasn’t disconcerted. For her part, she tried hard not to be disconcerted by the comparison of her skin against his, her experience, her money, her age, against his. “Not yours against mine, he had said. “Yours combining with mine.”