The Unforgiving Minute (3 page)

We would meet for drinks at one apartment or the other.

The women got along famously and Ann Marie and I got along fine.

Dominic, however, was a needler who took great delight in making

fun of everybody and everything in the most cynical manner. One

evening we sat at the piano in their apartment singing old songs,

a little high from too much wine. Dominic didn’t sing and Julie

is really not musical, so it came down to me and Ann Marie. I’ll

never forget it. We were singing “It Had to Be You” and our

thighs were touching on the piano bench. It hit me at that

moment. I was turned on to this woman and, as she sat there

facing me and singing, our bodies touching, I could see it in her

eyes. She was turned on to me. The evening ended and Julie and

I went back to our apartment. I lay awake thinking of Ann Marie.

In the worst way, I didn’t want to be unfaithful to Julie. I

loved her more than life itself and we were incredibly happy.

The months went on and we led a blissful newlywed’s

existence in our apartment. We added furniture and artifacts as

time went on and developed our own little circle of friends,

mostly young couples in our own age group. We took advantage of

all the good things about living in Manhattan. We went to the

theater at least once a month and visited all the museums

frequently. We drifted apart from Dominic and Ann Marie and it

was months between hellos. I all but forgot about that one night

of desire.

About four months later we purchased our first car. It

was a 1953 Volkswagen Beetle, one of the first imported to the

U.S. It had upholstery like burlap, didn’t have sealbeam

headlamps, and didn’t even have the safety glass found in

American cars of that era. It was cheap, though, and got great

gas mileage from a small rear-mounted, air-cooled engine that

sounded like you were being chased by a police siren.

I arrived home from work on a Friday evening when Julie

came to me with that “pretty-please-do-me-a-favor” look on her

face. “I have to go shopping with Mother tomorrow and Dominic

and Ann Marie need a tremendous favor. Dominic’s mother is

giving them an antique Italian vase and they need a lift to

Peekskill to pick it up.”

“Come on,” I said. “Let them borrow the car, for God’s

sake. I feel like sleeping late tomorrow and I have a thousand

errands to do.”

Julie gave me a shake of her pretty head and said, “Who

knows what kind of a driver he is, and I don’t think she ever got

a license. I’d fear for the life of the car all day.” The whole

thing put me into one of my more petulant moods and I was

insufferable for the whole evening.

The next morning I found myself heading for Peekskill, Ann

Marie by my side. I remember feeling awkward as hell. None of

the electricity that was there a few months before seemed to be

present. I surmised that it was the wine and the music and let

it go at that. Our conversation on the way up, a trip of about

fifty miles, was all small talk. One thing I did get from it,

though, was that Ann Marie was very unhappy with Dominic. I felt

that she found him embarrassing and was constantly making excuses

for him.

We arrived in Peekskill about noon and were treated to a

wonderful Italian lunch complete with homemade wine. Dominic’s

mother was crazy about me, especially when she found out I was a

“nice Italian boy.”

The wine got to me again. I looked across the table at

Ann Marie and saw the same sensuality I had seen before. There

is something about her when she perspires. Her hair mats down on

her forehead and a thin patina of sweat, barely discernible,

makes her skin glow. Whatever cologne she was wearing at the

time seemed to permeate the room without a hint of body odor. I

wanted this woman and couldn’t figure out for the life of me why.

All I know is that right now, over twenty years later, no woman

can or has ever sustained this kind of sexual longing in me.

We left and were cruising quietly on the Taconic Parkway

when, suddenly, on an impulse, I gently laid my hand on her

thigh. She didn’t acknowledge it was there but she didn’t take

it away. She looked straight ahead, but I felt her firm skin

through the light cotton dress she wore and I had an enormous

erection. After about two minutes of this I turned slightly

toward her and saw a look on her face as she stared straight

ahead that told me all I wanted to know. It was a look of sexual

arousal that was unmistakable. I was in a state of frenzy. I

ran my hand under her dress, up her left thigh, and reached down

the top of her panties. I felt her thatch of luxurious pubic

hair and found her wetness. As I gently massaged her with my

fingers, she started to undulate and moan. Her moaning changed

to near screaming and after she achieved orgasm, I pulled over

onto the grass and embraced her. As our tongues darted at each

other, she unzipped my fly and grasped me in her soft hand. In

about ten seconds I came all over my jeans, the dashboard, and

her dress. She took out her handkerchief and meticulously

cleaned everything up.

As I took the road again, we finally spoke. She said,

“Robert, I hope that you don’t think I’ve ever done this before.

I didn’t think I was capable of this. All I know is that for a

long time I have felt something between us that I can’t explain.

I love your wife and I don’t ever want to hurt her, but I know I

can’t stop. I haven’t had sex with my husband in years, but I

want to go to bed with you soon. Please don’t tell me you want

to stop.”

It happened one evening about three months later. Julie

went to a class at the New School and I knew that Dominic was at

his parent’s house overnight. I sat down on an easy chair with a

gin and tonic, knowing full well what I was going to do and

trying to avoid it. I knew I really wasn’t trying to avoid it,

but I felt better believing I was trying. I slipped on a pair of

cotton chinos with no underwear and a tee shirt and walked down

the hall. Ann Marie opened the door. She was wearing a pink

cotton robe. We stared at each other for what seemed a long

time. I stepped in and in a matter of minutes we were naked on

the living room rug, thrashing and moaning. I had not before

that time or since then met a woman of such sensuality. Sex with

her was the ultimate sensual experience of my life and, strangely

enough, all these years later it still is.

Afterward, we lay there nude on the living room rug,

stroking, kissing, and purring like happy kittens. It only

occurred to me at that time to ask where their son Michael was.

Ann Marie laughed and said that she certainly wouldn’t be lying

here nude on the living room floor with me if Michael weren’t

away overnight.

We lay in each other’s arms for what seemed like hours and

I felt my erection returning. Ann Marie grasped my swollen

member in her hand and said, “It’s funny, Robert, Dominic always

wanted me to take his in my mouth and the thought of it revolted

me, but I want to take yours in my mouth right now. Do you

mind?”

“Do I mind? You’ve got to be kidding. Oh please, please

do!”

I felt the velvety warmth of her mouth and tongue on me

and have still to this day never felt anything like it. She

would release me just long enough to shout, “Oh God, I love it,

I love it!”

When we finished, I went back to my apartment and stood in

a hot shower with a third erection just starting. This woman was

so erotic that my desire for her scared me. When Julie walked in

I was so turned on that I all but threw her on the bed and took

her. She was delighted with my ardor, but all the time I was

thinking of Ann Marie.

***

I posted the letter and decided to get on with my odyssey.

The trouble was, I couldn’t think of where I wanted to go next.

I wanted adventure and I wanted to include women in those

adventures, but thinking of three women was mentally exhausting

me. I decided to go to Paris and then the French Riviera.

I called Air France and arranged for a flight the

following evening.

Chapter 3

I settled in my seat in the taxi cab heading for Paris. I had

been to Paris many times, but never alone. In fact, I always

hated to be alone, making this whole adventure puzzling to even

myself. I was sure that Julie was certain that I had taken this

trip with another woman. The traffic into Paris was quite

sparse. Rush hour was over and it was August, a month when many

Parisians are out of the city on vacation. I had always joked

that Paris was closed in August. The driver, deriving from my

accented French the fact that I was a foreigner, was not in the

least conversational, again leaving me alone with my thoughts.

There are addicts in this world for all of the vices and I was as

addicted to women as some men are to alcohol or drugs. I really

hated myself for my addiction and sincerely wished I could be

like my parents, whom I am certain never even so much as

fantasized having sex with anyone but each other. I couldn’t

figure out what made me tick. I had never been faithful to

anyone since the day I first had sex with Ann Marie. The moment

was so erotic that I have been trying to duplicate it all my

life. Even now, I found myself savoring my latest sexual

adventure and breathlessly awaiting its emergence. I have always

blamed it on the sexually repressed society in which I spent my

adolescence. When the sexual revolution started, I just couldn’t

cope with the temptation.

The cab pulled up to the familiar front of the Hotel

George V. The doorman opened the cab door and as I entered the

hotel, I felt a pang of loneliness for my wife. Our last trip to

Paris had been before Laura entered my life and I was

unencumbered with romance for any other woman. When I reached my

room I came very close to picking up the phone and calling Julie.

I didn’t, of course.

I couldn’t believe that I had absolutely no yearning or

loneliness for Laura. I had worked myself into a frenzy when she

left me and had made an absolute fool of myself, begging her to

come back to me. I was sorry I wrote the letter to her. I tried

desperately to conjure up some feeling of love or physical

longing, and thought back to our beginnings.

***

About two weeks after our dinner date, I was invited to

speak to an association of businessmen in Chicago. I called

Laura in her office and invited her to spend two nights in

Chicago with me. She didn’t act coy or hem and haw. She was

very excited and told me she would try to get her sister to take

the kids for two days.

I couldn’t believe it as I looked at her sitting next to

me in the plane. She was very nervous and pulled out a paperback

and started to read. I looked at her with incredulity and said,

“I don’t get you. You come on a trip with me and treat me like

we’ve been married for twenty years. You’ve slipped back into

your dumb mode, just like that night I drove you home.”

“Oh, Bob,” she said, “can’t you see I’m nervous? I just

don’t know what to say.”

“Well, have a drink, for Christ’s sake,” I said, and

motioned for the flight attendant. By the time we got off the

plane, the mood was mellow and romantic. During the cab ride

from O’Hare to the hotel she never took her long and sensuous

fingers from my groin area and thigh.

I had reserved a suite and was looking forward to our

staying together. I had to make a two-hour speech at another

hotel the next day, leaving us two nights and the best part of

two days to be together in Chicago. We sat in the suite sipping

cocktails and talking and the mood became soft and romantic.

There was a stereo in the suite and the music was perfect. I

told Laura that I was going to take a shower and not to stray too

far. She gave me a sexy smile and, with a glint in her eye, told

me she would be right here when I returned. I stood in the

shower for a long time, masochistically postponing the moment of

truth. I emerged from the shower, dried myself carefully, blow—

dried my hair, and sprinkled myself with Paco Rabanne cologne. I

walked out of the bathroom expecting to find Laura waiting in the

bed. I saw that the bed was still made up and the covers were

not turned down. My vision was instantly diverted to the other

end of the large bedroom where she was bending, clad in bra and

panties, over her suitcase, obviously looking for something. I

quietly approached her and placed my hand at the sides of her

waist and slowly slid the panties down her thighs and all the way

to her ankles. Except for a slight tremor of surprise, she made

no move. I dropped my terrycloth robe to the floor and slid into

her wetness as she moaned and panted in ever-increasing volume.

I ran my hands over her classic back and buttocks, thinking to

myself that no piece of sculpture had surpassed this perfect

body. We came together in a cacophony of sounds that was surely

heard in the next room, if not in the next hotel. She turned

toward me and we kissed for a long time as I unfastened her bra.

We walked to the bed with our arms around each other and fell to

the mattress entwined together. As we lay there, drifting into

sleep, I made a mental note that this girl could be big trouble.

I might have been half joking to myself at the time, but I was so

right.

***

My first night in Paris consisted of a good night’s sleep.

By the time I arrived I was quite exhausted and the hour was

late. I bathed in one of those marvelous European bathtubs in

which an average-size male can steep his entire body without the

chest or knees sticking out. In America we seem to live in

mortal fear of bathtubs overflowing and flooding the bathroom.

Consequently, our tubs are equipped with a device called an

overflow drain which constantly keeps the water depth at about

six inches. European rooms usually have a drain in the floor for

easier cleaning of the bathroom and to turn bathtub overflows

into non-crises. If per-chance you should feel yourself getting

dizzy and about to sink into the water, there is usually an

emergency cord which ostensibly sends an alarm somewhere. I have

always had an urge to test it, but have never had the guts or,

thank God, the occasion. I caught up on a good deal of my

reading that night and stayed in the tub, adding hot water until

I felt drowsiness overwhelming me. I slid luxuriously into the

canopied Louis Quatorze bed and drifted into a deep and dreamless

sleep. I awoke at nine o’clock the next morning feeling

wonderfully rested and ravenously hungry. I shaved, showered,

and dressed in a navy blue blazer, grey slacks, and light-weight

summer shirt with striped tie. It was a beautiful summer morning

and I took a table on the patio, which is a glorious place to

dine in the summer. I picked up a copy of the Herald-Tribune at

the front desk and settled down for a leisurely breakfast. I

ordered a full breakfast, complete with fresh-squeezed orange

juice, two fried eggs, sausages, and fresh croissants with gobs

of butter. I drank steaming hot caf´e au lait and ate slowly and

leisurely with great satisfaction. It came to my mind that this

was a fitting breakfast to be eating in a French hotel named

after a British monarch. It felt strange to have no place to go.

I couldn’t remember a breakfast in years that was not followed by

something that was pre-planned, whether it be work, play, or even

a love affair. I absorbed every word of the newspaper and even

did the crossword puzzle. My fourth cup of strong French coffee

had me in a totally caffeinated state and my head felt clear and

slightly high. I left the patio dining room and returned to my

room to freshen up before setting out on what was really the

first day of the grand odyssey of Robert Boyd.

I left the hotel and headed right on the Avenue George

Cinq toward the Seine. I spotted the Crazy Horse Saloon on my

left and made a mental note to spend an evening there. Paris was

at her best. The temperature was about eighty degrees and a soft

breeze was blowing off the river. I strolled leisurely along the

right bank, drinking in Paris. Suddenly, I missed my family

again. I looked at my watch and it was eleven in the morning,

which meant it was five o’clock in New York. I decided to

evaluate the possibility of calling home at a decent hour. I let

my mind wander to other aspects of my life and thought of Laura

again. I know that the trauma of breaking off our relationship

had a lot to do with where I was now, and I thought of our last

night together.

***

Julie was an education freak and was forever taking night

courses at local colleges. The last year that Laura and I were

together, Julie spent her evenings at C.W. Post University

taking a three-hour course in contemporary American literature,

taught by a practicing psychologist, who analyzed the characters

and the writer. I chose whatever night Julie was out to contrive

an excuse to be with Laura. On that particular night, Laura

asked me to take her to the restaurant where it all started. As

I thought back on it now, I realized that it was almost exactly a

year since our breakup. We started off, as usual, by having sex

in my office. I had my own shower and steam bath and a lush

office where my couches and chairs were more comfortable than

most beds. Laura especially loved my bathroom which had one wall

entirely mirrored. She loved to observe her own body in the

mirror and I loved needling her about her narcissism. On that

night, her sexual moaning and panting was even louder and more

urgent than ever. She constantly professed her love for me

during the act and showered me with affection. I had absolutely

no clue that this was our last night.

She lingered in the bathroom for a long time. I was fully

dressed and ready to go when she walked out of the bathroom. She

was fully made up, her hair was combed, and earrings hung from

her ears. She was totally nude and the smell of her cologne

permeated the air. She knelt before me, unzipped my fly and gave

me what was to be her farewell gift. I couldn’t believe I could

be hard again so soon, and that I could come again with such

intensity.

We sat at a table overlooking the East River. It was a

beautiful night, so reminiscent of the night it all started. In

my mind, Laura had led me here to celebrate an anniversary of

sorts another year of an intense love affair that would never

end. We made small talk over our drinks and touched hands,

looking into each other’s eyes with great affection. We ate a

wonderful meal and strolled out to the steel pier where it all

began. I put my arms around her and drew her to me. “Wait,” she

said. “We have to talk.”

“We do?” I said. “About what?”

“You’re never going to leave Julie, are you?”

I was absolutely taken aback. “When in the hell did we

ever discuss such a thing? I keep asking you if you’re happy in

this relationship and you keep telling me you’re deliriously

happy and that you’re the luckiest woman in the world.”

Tears ran down her cheeks and she turned away and looked

at the river.

“Do you know what it is to sit home every Friday and

Saturday night while you’re leading a normal life at your country

club, the theater, and God knows where else?”

My blood ran cold as I realized she was dead serious. I

hadn’t even contemplated what life would be like without her and

all of a sudden my world was crashing in around me.

“Laura, honey, you know what you mean to me. I don’t

think I can live without you, but you know what my kids, my

family, my home mean to me. How would you like to be forced to

live without your children? Are you giving me an ultimatum?

Must I decide now whether to leave my wife and family? Let’s

give it some time. Let me digest this and in a few weeks I can

make a decision.”

She seemed to stare at the river for an interminable

amount of time before she spoke. “I’ve given it a lot of

thought. I don’t want you to leave your wife. If you did, you’d

feel guilty in a week and take it out on me. I know you. You’re

much too sensitive a man to do this to your wife and children. I

don’t think I could take the stigma of being the other woman. It

was done to me once and I really don’t want to do it to someone

else. I’ve got to build a new life for myself that doesn’t

include you.”

I pulled her toward me and kissed her. The kiss she gave

me was like a kiss from your maiden aunt. The drive back to her

apartment was totally silent. As she left the car I shouted

after her, “Can’t we have coffee tomorrow morning to talk this

over?”

“No, not tomorrow,” she said. “Let’s not talk for a

while, and then maybe we can be friends.”

As I drove away, my mind was truly boggled. It was like

being hit over the head with the proverbial ton of bricks. I

couldn’t believe I was getting the old “can’t we be friends?”