The Unforgiving Minute (18 page)

centuries. She dismissed me at her door as if I had just

delivered room service, and I didn’t even get a tip.

I went back to my room and slept the sleep of the dead.

When I awoke, I actually wanted her again but I knew that it was

really futile. However, an amazing thing had happened. I made

the transition from my romance with Lee without falling in love

with someone else. Last night’s episode had a decidedly

therapeutic effect on me. I felt like sending a thank-you note

to Yvonne Metrier. She gave me a wild evening and did me a great

favor.

It was time now to move on to my next adventure. Portugal

had served its purpose and held nothing for me at the present

time. I didn’t, however, have any idea where I wanted to go or

what I wanted to do. For a moment, I decided to go home, but the

fear of confrontation there rather than a lust for adventure

erased that idea from my head immediately.

I was close to Africa, close to Spain, close to any one of

a number of interesting and exotic places. It’s amazing that if

one lives in Europe he is an hour or less away from absolutely

incredible vacations, whereas in America we are always flying

five to eight hours or more to get to our vacation destinations.

I decided that there was plenty of time to make that decision and

found that I was starving after the glut of activity the night

before.

I walked into the dining room with a new spring to my

step. I was feeling incredibly good. My encounter with Yvonne

had, for once in my life, exactly the effect I wanted it to. As

I was being led to my table, I saw her. She was eating a

Falstaffian breakfast with incredible gusto. Spread before her

was a virtual cholesterol festival. Eggs, sausages, fried

potatoes, butter, and a pitcher of heavy cream. I looked at her,

furiously wolfing down the food, with crumbs lodged in the

corners of her mouth and a glow of unwiped butter on her chin and

wondered how I could have been so sexually aroused last night.

It was a perfect example of marketing. She marketed her

product so well the night before that I was taken in completely.

I wondered how I could use her as an example if I ever wrote

another business book.

I looked at her and gave her a good-morning nod with a big

smile on my face. As promised, she looked right through me with

an expression of derision. I happily walked by her. Whatever

magic she had wrought yesterday was totally gone. I was

eternally grateful to her, though, because along with the magic,

my depression and longing for Lee had also disappeared. I

thought I was really beginning to understand myself at last.

As I sat eating my breakfast, looking out the window at an

absolutely magnificent day, I decided it was time to take stock

in myself. The thing I really wanted to take a good look at was

my relationship with my wife. Was our marriage really so

terrible or was I making that up to assuage my guilt? My first

problem was to explain to myself why the affair with Ann Marie

started so early in my marriage, while I was still so blissfully

in love with Julie. At that time I worshipped Julie. She was

beautiful, intelligent, and had not yet developed the demeanor

she exhibited later in our lives. I thought I knew the answer.

***

I had just celebrated my fifteenth birthday. In the

sexually repressed society I grew up in, I would never dare

consult either one of my parents with my problems of adolescence.

I mean excessive horniness and constant masturbation. I really

thought there was something wrong with me. Everyone was taught

that masturbation was a perverted, impure act. I believed that I

was steeped in sin and doomed to hell. I would try to restrain

myself but to no avail. I would take my parents’ magazines Life,

Look or the New York Times Sunday magazine section and find

articles with pictures of attractive women or, better still,

underwear ads. I would lock myself in the bathroom and have

fantasy sex at every opportunity.

My greatest crushes were not the young girls at school,

but my mother’s friends. Her friends then were women in their

late thirties and early forties, a lot younger than I am now. I

had this thing about older women. I had lots of imaginary sex

with a lot of my mother’s friends but my favorite was Mrs.

Lockridge. Funny the things you remember, but when I had

imaginary sex with her I would whisper, “Oh, Mrs. Lockridge,” as

I was coming, never Helen, which was her name. Helen Lockridge,

as I remembered her, was a dead ringer for Ann Marie. I still

thought of Helen Lockridge often, even into my twenties, so that

when Ann Marie came along and gave me the signals that she was

interested, I finally, in my mind, was having sex with Helen

Lockridge.

Years later, at an anniversary party for one of my aunts,

there was Helen Lockridge as a guest. She was about seventy-five

years old and walked with one of those four-legged walkers. Her

speech was slightly slurred, probably from a stroke. Deep down,

though, under the wrinkles and the twisted mouth, I could imagine

I saw a vestige of the pretty woman she was. I walked over to

her and kissed her on the cheek.

“Mrs. Lockridge I mean, Helen there’s something you

should know that might amuse you.”

“Oh my,” she said, “I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Well,” I said, “when I was a teenager, I had a mad crush

on you. You were all I thought about. I never thought about the

girls in my class … only you.”

She laughed, a hearty, friendly laugh, devoid of derision

or scoffing. “Well, you rascal.” With that she leaned over,

pinched my cheek affectionately, and, with a mischievous twinkle

in her eye, said, “Well, why in the world didn’t you say

something?”

I smiled and said, “If I thought for one minute that you

were serious, I’d go beat my head against the wall.”

As she hobbled away, she looked over her shoulder and

smiled again. “There’s a lovely wall right over there.”

Years later, when I heard of her death, I was very sad and

thought of that conversation. To this day I wonder if she was

really serious.

***

I had a healthy breakfast of cereal, juice, fruit and

coffee and thought that for my next adventure I’d like to do

something totally male, something where I would have a sense of

adventure and accomplishment without sex getting in the way. I

decided that after breakfast, I would take a horse from the

stables and take a long ride and do some serious thinking.

About halfway through my breakfast, I saw Yvonne get up

and walk out of the dining room. I made a bet with myself that

she would turn around for one last look at me before she walked

out the door. As she stepped into the doorway, she gave an

almost imperceptible look over her shoulder. At that time,

however, I was staring straight at the doorway. I smiled

knowingly and she snapped her head around and walked haughtily

out the door.

Chapter 7

The train came to a screeching stop. We were entering

Hungary from Austria. I decided that a trip behind the Iron

Curtain would appeal to my sense of adventure. I had been driven

from the hotel to Faro, Portugal, and had flown to Lisbon. While

there, I acquired the necessary papers for entry into Hungary.

Hungary in 1985 was the most progressive of all the Communist

countries. There was less Soviet control and even some private

enterprise. I felt that it was not the ordinary tourist stop and

that I would find less Americans there. From Lisbon, I flew to

Vienna, where I boarded a train for Budapest. I was alone in a

compartment for six, enabling me to stretch out on the ample seat

and grab some much-needed sleep. I was awakened by the abrupt

stop and waited with great trepidation for the fearsome

communists to allow me entry into the country. In about ten

minutes’ time, two imposing-looking soldiers or policemen, I

couldn’t tell which, opened the sliding door to my compartment

and solemnly asked for my papers. The one reading them looked

from the passport to my face several times, apparently checking

out the resemblance. When he was satisfied, he broke into a warm

and friendly grin and actually reached out and shook my hand.

“Welcome to our country, Mr. Boyd. We hope you enjoy your

stay with us and come back again soon.”

Soon after, we pulled into the Budapest railway station.

It was thrilling to me to be in an eastern bloc country. The

first thing I noticed was Russian soldiers in dress uniform,

obviously travelling on leave rather than guarding the depot.

Their large round-top service caps looked alien to me and I

couldn’t help staring. I was rather apprehensive about my total

ignorance of the Hungarian language. The little reading I had

done about it informed me that its roots were, of all things,

Finnish. One look at a map makes that a greater puzzle than it

seems initially. The signs in the station were absolutely

unintelligible and I was at a total loss as to what to do next.

A porter took my luggage to a cab rank for me without ever

communicating in one language or another. I had no Hungarian

money as yet, so I gave him an American dollar. He beamed so

radiantly that I made a mental note to study the exchange rate in

the cab, since I obviously overtipped the porter. I had made

reservations at the Budapest Hilton. When I didn’t know the

language, I always headed for a Hilton. The ride from the

railway station to the Hilton took about forty minutes and I saw

the meter ferociously spinning out florins. I took out my

conversion table and couldn’t believe how little this cab ride

was costing me. Budapest is actually two cities, Buda and Pest.

The Hilton was in Buda on the other side of the Danube. Pest was

actually the center of commerce and government, although I didn’t

know it at this time. Buda is actually more of a suburb.

As the cab rolled over one of the many bridges across the

Danube, I looked down at the famous river. It was anything but

its legendary blue color. It was decidedly murky and could even

be called muddy. The sky was a winter grey and the river was

choppy in the cold wind. In front of me were the heights of Buda

which were elevated high above the river and the relatively flat

city of Pest. We climbed up the heights past castles and houses

that were hundreds of years old. I was impressed with the

quaintness and cleanliness around me. Somehow, I had expected it

to be run-down and shoddy. The streets were tree-lined and the

shops and houses were rarely in need of paint or cleaning.

I was amazed when we pulled up to the Hilton. On its

right were two spectacular edifices, Matthias church and the

Fisherman’s Bastion, a medieval fort of great beauty. When I

converted the meter from florins to dollars, I thought I made a

mistake. The bill came to about one dollar for a half-hour ride.

I gave the driver two dollar bills out of sheer guilt and he

bubbled in gratitude. I came back to earth, however, when I

registered at the hotel. Once inside its walls, the prices

became strictly American. Not exorbitant, mind you, but

nevertheless the kind of prices one would expect at a deluxe

hotel.

I was shown to a room overlooking the Danube. From the

heights of Buda, one can see a panoramic view of Pest across the

river. Two buildings, the parliament with its gigantic red

Communist star on the roof, and the magnificent St. Stephen’s

Basilica, dominated the cityscape before me.

The room, despite the fact that I was in a supposedly

American-style hotel, was disappointingly spartan. It was small,

with adequate facilities at best, with a bed that was too small

and too uncomfortable. I looked at the imposing view and noted

that the skies were ominously grey. Suddenly, I felt alone and

depressed. What in the hell was I doing here, anyway? Suddenly,

I missed my children desperately. I even missed Julie. Either I

was coming down to earth, psychologically, or the loneliness was

getting to me.

I had absolutely no desire to search for a woman to occupy

my time. This seemed like a good sign to me. I leafed through

my guide book and noted all of the sights I wanted to see in

Budapest. This was the first place I had come to on this trip

that I had never been to before. I really wanted to share it

with someone. It really wasn’t much fun sightseeing alone. I

looked at my watch and it was close to midday. I decided to

violate my agreement with Ann Marie and call her. She would be

home, probably sleeping, as it was much too early to leave for

work.

The phone rang three times before she picked it up. I was

thrilled hearing her slept, bedroom voice.

“It’s me, Robert,” I said, expecting her to be angry with

me for calling.

“Oh, Robert,” she all but moaned, “I’m so happy you

called. I miss you so much! Are you coming home soon?”

“I really don’t know; I think so, but I’m very confused.

That’s why I called.”

“I think you should end this madness once and for all,”

she said with great tenderness. “Everyone is worried sick about

you. The children feel hurt and even Julie after all this time

is more worried than she is angry. Everyone is convinced you’ve

become mentally deranged.”

“Sometimes I think so myself,” I said. The relief I felt

in having her accept my call without anger was apparent in my

voice.

“What have you been doing? Are you running around Europe

with beautiful women?”

“Not really,” I said. “I seem to have cleansed myself of

that addiction. Truthfully, I really don’t know why I’m still

here. I think I’m afraid to go home. Afraid of the hassle and

the recriminations.”

“In two weeks it will be Christmas,” she said longingly.

“What a wonderful Christmas present it would be for everyone if

you would come home.”

“Do you think I should call the children?”

She hesitated for some time before answering. “No,

Robert, I don’t think that would be fair to them. Just come

home. Come home for Christmas.”

“No,” I said, “not Christmas. That would be awkward, but

sometime early next year. I promise.”

“I can’t take much more of this, Robert. I wish I was

strong enough to just eradicate you from my life. I’ve loved you

too long to be able to do that. If you love me at all, if you

love your children at all, if you love Julie at all, stop

torturing everyone and come home. You’ve been thinking only of

yourself for a long time. Your life is not yours alone. You are

connected to many people whose love for you is not easy to

forget. Take some time and think of each of us separately and

realize what damage you are doing to us all.”

“I will,” I said. “I promise. You don’t believe me but I

have been coming around mentally in the past few weeks and I am

sure it’s taking a positive turn. Believe in me. You always

have. You’ve always been the one, through all these years, who

truly believed in me. Please don’t stop now.”

A toughness came into her voice that I had rarely heard.

“I’ve been thinking about that myself for a long time. I

think that I’ve spoiled you. I’ve tolerated your other women,

I’ve stood up for you in everything you’ve done, and I’ve always

told you that you were right. I even tolerated this ridiculous

trip in the beginning but I’m changing too. I’m starting to

realize where I was wrong. I pumped up this ego of yours until

it became an uncontrollable monster. Do you know who I really

want? I want the innocent boy in the Volkswagen, I want him

back. I don’t really know if I like who you are now.”

I was flabbergasted. All of my adult life, this sensuous

woman had put me on a pedestal and all but worshipped the ground

I walked on. Now she was seeing me as a flawed human being for

the first time. It was something I wasn’t used to. I could hear

her softly weeping on the other end of the line and I suddenly

felt small and insignificant in contrast to the giant she always

made me.

“But I am the same man you met. I really haven’t changed,

honestly … and I need you more than ever. You’re so important

to me. Please bear with me just a little longer.”

“Robert, there’s something you should know.” She sounded

weak and frightened and I prepared for the worst. “I’ve been

seeing someone. He’s a widower about my age. I met him at a

friend’s house and he’s been very nice to me. No sex yet, but if

he asked I would go to bed with him even though I still want only

you. I need to have a life of my own. I can’t go on this way.

Please try to understand that I may not be here for you the way

it was before when you get back.”

I was shocked and childishly jealous. I wanted to

dissuade her from this new gentleman friend, but how could I?

“Robert,” she said, responding to my dumbfounded silence,

“are you still there? Say something!”

“I don’t know what to say. How could I say anything after

what I’ve done to you? Look, I’m not angry, just more confused

than ever. I don’t think I want to talk anymore right now. I’ll

call you soon.”

“Please,” she said, “I want you to. Remember that I still

love you. If everything were equal, I’d only want you. You must

realize that the ten years between us is going to start to show

soon. In less than five years, I’ll be seventy years old and you

won’t quite be sixty. You’re going to look on me as an old lady

who was once very attractive and you’re going to take me to bed

out of mercy and hate every minute of it. I know we’re never

really going to be together for any length of time and time is

growing short.”

Of course, everything she was saying was right on the

mark. Part of me loved her enough to let go and the other part

loved her enough not to let her go. I was at a total loss for

words and said nothing for what seemed to be a long time.

“Ann Marie, honey, don’t get me wrong. I know you’re

telling me some difficult things that are very painful for you.

The problem I’m having is that with all of the women I’ve had in

my life, you’re the only one that has sustained passion for me

and I’m so afraid to lose you.”

Her voice became loving and tender. “You know you’ll

never lose me, Robert. No matter who I’m with, sinful as it may

seem, I’ll always be yours whenever you want me.”

My relief was instantly evident. “No wonder I love you,

woman. You’re simply the greatest. After all this, you’re still

there for me.”

I was moved almost to tears. This wonderful woman had

never hurt me for one minute and her record was still intact.

I was somewhat relieved by the affirmation of her love for

me but still a little disturbed by this new revelation.

“I still love you too, Ann Marie, no matter what. I

really understand and I’ll call or write very soon.”

She said goodby tenderly in that deep throaty voice that

never failed to arouse me.

I decided to break out of my depression by taking a walk

through the neighborhood. I put on my warmest coat and scarf to

shield me from the low temperature and raw winds and set out for

nowhere in particular. I walked for blocks through a

neighborhood that, except for painting and possible restoration,

hadn’t changed for hundreds of years. Despite the fact that it

was the dead of winter, there were flowers in window boxes

everywhere. The winter sky consisted of alternate brush strokes

of black and grey and a cold wind bit at my face. I was lonely

and a little depressed but, suddenly, the company of a stranger

would not suffice. I seemed to be emerging from the dream world

I had lived in for four months. I longed for the company of my

children, Ann Marie, and even Julie. I thought that exploring

this strange city and country with Julie would be just fine. The

annoyances, real or imagined, that set me off into this