The Tao of Pam (28 page)

“I’m going to make sure this is documented in detail,” he said angrily.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sandra said. “It’s their loss. Your family makes up for it.”

“She’s their flesh and blood,” Tom replied. “No wonder Marie was fucked up.”

Sandra frowned, but nodded her head in agreement. “Totally,” she said.

Now, as she sat at the little table listening to Miranda babbling about coloring and Virginia was gathering her belongings together to leave, Sandra remembered to thank her.

“We’d be lost without you, Virginia,” she said. They kissed each other on the cheek.

“My pleasure,” she said. “Faith is coming to get me. Remember, Tommy is working late tonight.”

Sandra brightened up; she’d forgotten Tom would be late. And as soon as she put Miranda to bed, those diaries of Marie’s were coming out.

Chapter 25

Saturday is catch-up day for working members of society. Up and down the northeast corridor, it means waiting in long grocery store lines, jockeying for position at the dry cleaners and drug store, fighting for parking spots at the post office. Sandra had errands to run before she could meet Pam at Jack’s old apartment, which meant no lazing around in bed. Tom reached for her for sex, and she complied so he’d leave her alone the rest of the weekend. She stayed in his arms as long as she could stand it, extricating herself when she’d reached her patience limit.

“Are you going to work?” he said sleepily.

“Not this weekend. I have to get to the dry cleaners before ten and meet Pam midtown at eleven. You need to get up and get the baby out of her crib. She’s been singing for the last half hour.” Going into the bathroom, she locked the door. He would often try to join her in the shower, which could lead to another sexual encounter, and she wasn’t in the mood. Reading about Jack the night before in Marie’s diaries accomplished one thing; Sandra would try to stop fantasizing about a life with Jack for a while. But it also emphasized how boring her life had become.

Marie started to notice Jack wasn’t paying the same attention to her about six weeks after Sandra started working with him. They didn’t start a relationship until almost a year later, but as soon as she transferred there from the Bronx office, they started having lunch together, walking around the area afterward. Marie documented her confusion and concern.

June 30, 2009. Well, it was bound to happen. For the first time in memory, Jack didn’t try to have sex with me when we were together. I was ready for him last night, bathed with the soap he bought me (the same rose-smelling crap Pam uses), and then when he got here, all he wanted was a drink. He was going to start talking about work, but he caught himself. They have new employees; that much I got out of him. He’s been working through lunch frequently, too. I wish I could talk about it with Pam, but she doesn’t know we see each other during the week as much as we do. So I just suffer in silence.

It was more of the same for the next three months. Throughout that summer, Jack was courting Sandra. There was no other word to describe their relationship. They started to see each other after work occasionally for a drink, and then he finally asked her to dinner. Remembering like it was yesterday, up until the dinner invitation, she thought of Jack as a mentor only. Family photos were plastered all over the office; he was just a gorgeous older guy with a beautiful wife and kids. She was standing in his office with a research file in her hands, passing it off to him. When he took it, his fingertips grazed hers. Jack looked up at Sandra with a way he had, not seductive exactly, but sleepy eyed, with a smile on his face.

“Are you free to have dinner with me tonight?” he’d asked.

Sandra held her breath. If she hadn’t, she would have gasped. It was such an obvious switch from
working through lunch
to
romantic dinner
. She said yes, and he said he’d send a car around to her place at eight. That really got her; she thought they’d walk somewhere convenient near work, and then he’d put her in a cab. “Dress up,” he said simply. It caught Sandra off guard. She’d never needed a man to tell her how to dress, but then she thought, it must be somewhere special if he’d take the risk of embarrassing her.

“Okay,” she answered. “I’ll surprise you.” Blatant flirting was so unlike her that she flushed and started stammering, but Jack laughed and grabbed her hand.

“I’m counting on it,” he said with that dreamy-eyed look she’d grow to love.

They didn’t see each other again that day, and Sandra took a cab home instead of waiting for the train. While she showered, she deliberated about what she’d wear. Without a second thought, she knew, reaching into her closet for a beaded sheath. She took it out of the cleaner’s bag, hoping it would still fit. She’d worn it once, years ago, and never thought she’d have the opportunity again. It was snug, but her body carried it off.  It was covered in sparkling bugle beads, bare armed and above the knee, but it was a warm fall evening. She piled her hair up on her head, and put diamond earrings in her ears that her father had given her for college graduation. She wore flesh-colored stockings and strappy sandals. Already almost as tall as Jack, the shoes put them at eye-to-eye level. She wondered how that was going to work.
I guess I’ll soon find out.

She was ironing a white handkerchief to stick in her purse when the door buzzer rang. The car had arrived. Glancing at the clock, it was eight sharp. “I’ll be right out,” she said into the intercom, not bothering to buzz him in. She’d later accept that she knew that night she was walking toward something monumental in her life and might have heard a warning that she’d ignored. The thrill that someone of Jack’s stature would pursue her muffled all cautionary voices. It was a repeated scenario in her life.

The driver was waiting at the car with the door open, and Sandra didn’t realize until she sat down that Jack had come along. She had expected him to be waiting for her at the restaurant. Seeing him sitting in the car, staring at her, his long legs sprawled, exquisitely dressed in a tuxedo, convinced her he was worth a reduction in morals.

“Well, you’ve succeeded,” he said, giving her a smile that did corny things to her head; all the clichés about
melting hearts
and
breath being taken away
streamed through her mind. She pulled her legs into the car and turned to him while the driver closed her door.

Jack watched her every move: the way she positioned her legs so that her knees pointed toward his, her flat stomach bound with sparkling crystal beads, just a hint of cleavage.

“I’m glad you approve,” she said, but with a little unintended giggle.

Jack would later tell her that did it for him; he was hooked. The girlish delight his attention gave her built up his ego so that he would begin to withdraw from everything and everybody he’d used to fill his life with meaning. Sandra would read about it in Marie’s diaries.

September 30
^th
, 2009. That bastard stood me up tonight.
It was the night of Sandra and Jack’s first dinner out together
. I’ve had it with him, and I wrote him a note about it. I put it in an envelope and had a messenger take it around to his office the next day. Then, I immediately regretted it. No one has the upper hand with Jack. No one. If I ever want to see him again, I better accept that this is the new order. I wonder who it is. I’ve never seen Jack so preoccupied. Not for his kids or his wife and certainly not for me. I hope the bitch is worth it.
Marie wouldn’t find out until that fateful Saturday in May, before the Memorial Day picnic, when she’d see the couple out together on the Upper West Side. They’d spend time together weekly, but Marie never caught on. Sandra decided it must be hereditary, the ability to look the other way.

January 8, 2010. I’m at my wits’ end with Jack. We had an awful fight last night, and I thought he’d kill me. I told him I suspected he was seeing someone else and that I was going to tell Pam. Well, it got really ugly. He grabbed me by the arm and tossed me across the room like I was a rag doll. Then he attacked me. It wasn’t the first time. I fought him and think I succeeded in hurting him.

He called a little while ago and apologized. He’s on his way over.

And finally,
March 25, 2010. Things are just different. He’s making love to me again, the kind of sex we used to have, slow and luscious and fabulous. Jack makes my entire body shake. But he’s not here when he’s here. Does that make sense? I’ve decided to take what he’ll give me, and as long as he’s sleeping with me, he has that much less to give another woman. My sister doesn’t seem to notice or isn’t sharing with me, but I doubt it. She’d tell me if she suspected anything.

Sandra was heartsick. She knew Jack had to have been sleeping with several women when they were together and to see it in writing was torture. But she seemed unable to put the diaries away. “That’s enough for now,” she said, promising herself she could pick it up again another time. She wanted to read the early ones, when Marie was a child before Jack destroyed her life, not knowing the writing didn’t really start until afterward. The need to know what kind of father he was vanished. She could see from the writings that he was a child abuser. That he didn’t touch his own children may have been miraculous.

Tom got the baby up and ready for a day in Bayside while Sandra prepared for her trip into the city. “I’ll see you later. Give Pam my love,” he said.

Sandra kissed Miranda good-bye and gave Tom a hug.

“Thank you for this morning,” she said, winking at him. She knew she didn’t give one hundred percent, but he wasn’t complaining, yet. She had a few tricks that seemed to work for him, and he was probably happy he didn’t need to put much into it to keep her happy.

“It was my pleasure,” he said, smiling.

She finally got out of the house and began walking briskly toward the train station.

“Hey, beautiful!” She heard the voice and recognized it, but didn’t react because it was so unlike anything she could imagine happening to her while she was on the streets of Brooklyn. “Hey, Sandra!” She turned around and, to her delight, saw Brent Smith.

“What are you doing in this part of the world?” she said, walking over to the passenger window. “I heard someone, but never in a million years thought it would be you.”

“Hop in,” he said.

“Aw, I can’t. I’m meeting your mother at your dad’s old apartment.”

“On Madison?”

“Yep.

“Well, get in, and I’ll drive you.”

Sandra opened the door and slid in, just the brake and the gearshift separating them. Not able to control it, she felt like a teenager sneaking out of the house with a boy her parents hated. It both titillated and petrified her.

“I was just thinking that I should rent the place from my mother when I start working. It would be closer.” Brent was talking, and she forced herself to focus.

“Yes, it certainly would be,” Sandra said, thinking that it couldn’t be any stranger, the two of them together.

“Have you ever seen it?”

“The day before your father’s funeral I met your mother there. It didn’t feel like he’d ever lived there,” Sandra confessed.

“No. It’s very 1970s. Too much yellow.”

“Yes, it’s very yellow. When we were there, your mom said he hadn’t changed anything for over a year. There was an old
House Beautiful
magazine on the coffee table that she’d read the last time she visited him.”

“My mom isn’t a big city-person,” Brent said.

“No, she’s admitted that to me.”

They drove in silence while he navigated the bridge.

“Do you miss living in the city?” Brent asked.

“Sometimes. I was never a big partier, though.”

“Really? I thought you’d probably done some exciting things with my dad,” Brent said softly, glancing at her.

“Like what?”

“Concerts, the ballet. Plays and the opera. He loved all that shit.”

“Jack took Marie to those kinds of things. What we did together was different. He wanted to visit every sidewalk café in the city. We also went to the farmer’s markets and the swap meets around town. He followed a couple of local musicians, and we never missed their concerts.” Then out of the blue, Sandra made a confession to Brent. “I’m sorry I hurt you and your sister and mother. I really am.”

Brent pulled over to the curb. It was in front of a shoe repair shop.

“I never blamed you,” he said. He reached over to take her hand.

At first, Sandra resisted it. She knew Tom would be furious if he knew she was even talking to Brent. But there wasn’t much chance of him finding out, and she was able to marginally rationalize it because the child they were raising was Brent’s cousin. Relaxing, she held his hand.

“You didn’t? You were the only one, then,” she replied.

He moved his hand up her arm and pulled her to him. He was strong for being so lean. As wrong as it was, Sandra’s body was responding to Brent’s embrace. She reluctantly put her arms around him, turning in the seat so she was facing him, and without missing a beat, they began to kiss. His breath was smoky, but he’d had a mint, and before too long, she was enjoying the taste of his mouth. Sandra couldn’t put the brakes on. Brent’s hand slipped to her waist and then up to her breast. He didn’t stay there long, moving down to her thigh. He worked his hand up the leg of her capris, but fortunately, he couldn’t get any higher than mid-thigh. They parted lips and rested their heads on each other’s shoulders, and he started to laugh.

“Saved by her pants,” Brent said.

Sandra smoothed his face with her hand. “Where were you four years ago?” she asked sadly.

“It’s not too late,” Brent said.

“Yes, it is. I can’t have an affair. I’m raising your aunt’s baby, and we are going to be working together. If that’s not enough reason to not get involved with you, I don’t know what is.”

Brent turned the key in the ignition. “Put your seatbelt on.” She did as he said. “Let’s just let things be. I apologize for kissing you.”