The Unforgiving Minute (6 page)

about the nude bodies writhing and sweating on the stage that was

erotic to both of us. She turned to me and said, “I hope you

don’t think I’m gay or anything, but there’s something that turns

me on when I see a beautiful naked female body. The funny thing,

though, is I don’t really want her, I want you.”

I smiled and replied, “I know what you mean. You’re not

the first girl that ever told me that. There must be a built-in

bisexuality in most women that men don’t have. I’m turned on

too; and I do want her, but I also want you. In fact, I’d like

the both of you together.” She smiled and gave me a feather-soft

punch in the nose.

“I have a confession to make,” she said.

“Go ahead,” I said. “I’d love to hear it.”

“When I was in prison, I already told you I was subjected

to the most horrible lesbian attacks. A very attractive Hispanic

girl named Linda nursed me whenever I was hurt. Some nights she

would hold me and sing me to sleep. She would bathe me and

stroke me and without her I don’t know how I ever would have

survived. One night while she was holding me she suddenly kissed

me. I found myself kissing her back. Eventually, she made love

to me. I never loved her back physically, but she soothed me and

I was, in a way, in love with her. I wanted to love her back,

very much, but I was afraid that I really was a lesbian. I still

think of her sometimes and wish that I had given as much as I

took.”

I alternately looked at Jane and looked at the stage. Her

story was turning me on on one side and a beautiful naked woman

was parading her body in front of me on the other. The music was

loud and raucous and I loved every minute of this scene. I said,

“I don’t think you’re gay at all you’ve already proven that to

me but I love this story. Please, I want to hear the details.

It’s very erotic.”

She proceeded to tell me in detail of the lovemaking with

Linda in prison. I listened intently, still eyeing the stage

while listening. In about a half hour, I all but dragged Jane

back to the room. About a minute and a half after we got through

the door, there was a pile of clothes on the floor and two

desperate bodies intertwined on the bed. Long after we fell

asleep I awakened in the middle of the night and snuggled up to

her naked body. She was dead to the world and I took great joy

in just stroking her. I thought of all the nights I had slept

with other women. Julie always slept with a nightgown or

pajamas.

Laura was particularly annoying. She always wore a tee

shirt, underpants, and high socks. Even after we made love she

would get up and put on what I jokingly called her uniform.

Believe it or not, in all the years I knew Ann Marie, we never

had an overnight, but I do know she wears a nightgown to bed. I

found myself thinking that Jane was great fun to sleep with. Of

course, this was only our second night together, but I was off

and running with my mind games again.

Four wonderful weeks went by and I found myself falling in

love. We went to museums, tourist attractions, the opera, parks,

and shops. We took train excursions, boat excursions, and drove

in a rented car to the chateaus. I was like a junkie who was

back on drugs or an alcoholic more into booze than ever. I knew

it was time to end this, no matter how painful. One day while

Jane was shopping, I finally called Ann Marie.

“Robert,” she said, “I thought you must be dead; I

couldn’t imagine you not calling me for over a month. Are you

okay?”

I assured her I was fine and asked first for news of my

family. Julie was thoroughly disgusted with me and, although she

had about written me off as a husband, had not filed for

separation or divorce yet. She was spending the money I had left

her with a vengeance and seemed more concerned over how this

looked to her friends than anything else. The kids were

distraught and felt a sense of betrayal but were going on with

their lives nonetheless. Ann Marie, my mother/sister/lover,

missed me terribly. I told her that I missed her too … I

really did. I missed what I called our naked therapy sessions.

We would make love and I would pour my heart out to her, even

about other women.

I told her about Jane and she was distraught over it. She

wasn’t jealous she never was but was concerned over what she

considered a great psychological problem for me.

“Robert, no one understands you like me. You’re falling

into your pattern again. You’re creating your next dream girl.

You know you have no intention of making this a permanent thing,

but in your own mind you probably think this is the love of your

life. Why do you think you cling to me all these years? Your

love for me is genuine, but I am very safe for you. I never put

pressure on you. I tolerate your women. I advise you. I

comfort you when the affairs are over, and having me satisfies

some need in you until you find the next woman. This trip of

yours … I don’t know if it’s so healthy. You are using it to

continue your addiction. It’s like an alcoholic making the

rounds of bars. If you have to find yourself … please … try

to do it without women. You are destroying yourself. I know

it’s not especially the sex, because I truly believe, and I know

you do too, that we have the best sex ever together. How else

could we still have this passion after almost thirty years?”

I felt like a little boy who was being reprimanded by his

mother. I knew mother was right, though. I had a sickness and I

didn’t really want to get rid of it. I told her that I would get

rid of Jane and try to pursue other types of recreation on the

trip but that I was not quite ready to come home at this time.

We exchanged further amenities and when I finally hung up

I felt great pangs of guilt. I was so close to my children and

had hardly given them a thought for weeks. I felt less guilt

toward Julie, but it was probably a product of my passion for a

new woman. Could I finally be understanding what makes me tick?

I felt nothing for Laura in a matter of a few short weeks; I felt

nothing for Julie but knew it was probably temporary. My kids

were the big surprise. I sat there trying to focus on them but

my mind kept wandering. I knew I was one screwed-up case but

didn’t know what I wanted. I poured myself a vodka on the rocks

and sat for a long time staring out the window. I heard the door

open but didn’t turn around. I felt Jane’s arms around me from

behind and received a gentle kiss on the back of my neck. I

turned around ready to seriously end this thing. When I looked

at her smiling at me I stood up and kissed her full on the mouth.

I stepped back and said, “I’m getting tired of Paris. How about

renting a car and heading for the Riviera?” She giggled with

glee as we fell to the bed passionately and drank each other in,

hungrily.

I sat behind the wheel heading south. She sat next to me

in jeans, boots, and a short-sleeved white sweater. The trunk

and the rear of the Peugeot were filled with our luggage. It was

a glorious September day, about 70 degrees with very little

breeze. We were heading for St. Tropez and were looking forward

to days in the sun. I still had it in the back of my mind that I

had to get rid of Jane, but it was way in the back at this time.

I had to think of something that would thrill me that had nothing

to do with women and sex. So far, I couldn’t. She sat quietly

and contentedly while Charles Aznavour sang, courtesy of the

car’s cassette player and a stack of Aznavour tapes purchased in

Paris. Aznavour was always a favorite with me. His songs of

love and life seemed to suit me and I felt a strange empathy with

this man I had never met. I never missed him in his yearly

concerts in New York and I was kind of disappointed when he

wasn’t appearing in Paris while I was there. We made the trip

leisurely and stopped one night on the road at a charming country

inn. This storybook existence was coloring my thinking more

every day. As I lived this movie which was now my life, I was

slipping further from reality every day. When we got to St.

Tropez, we checked into the Hotel Byblos which is really not a

hotel in the usual sense, but a series of charming Provencal

cottages around a beautiful swimming pool with a view of the sea

and lovely gardens. I had read much about St. Tropez and this

hotel in particular, but had never been there. We arrived in

late afternoon and our accommodations couldn’t have been more

spectacular. Our cottage was furnished in country French

furniture and our views were the sea and gardens. The pool was

but a short walk on a pathway through the garden.

The women on the French Riviera went mostly topless at the

beach and pool. The exquisite bodies were a feast for anyone’s

eye. I was proud of Jane. She had put on a little weight in the

right places and could stand up very well next to any of the

beauties of San Tropez. As the days went on, our bodies turned

brown from the sun. Jane was a beach person, so we did most of

our bathing in the Mediterranean. Her hair, bleached yellow by

the sun, contrasting with her brown body and blue eyes, made her

even lovelier. September rolled on and our lives were an endless

string of pleasure. Some days I even left her alone while I

played golf or tennis at a nearby club. The hotel was within

walking distance of the chic local shops and I was tired of the

sport of shopping, so this left Jane the opportunity of browsing

to her heart’s content. Burning in the back of my mind was the

realization that with each passing day it was getting harder to

end this. A small nightclub with a wonderful combo that played a

mixture of international and American music that appealed to both

of us had become our evening hangout. We were known there and

treated royally each time we went there, which was three or four

times a week. We had just finished a late dinner on a Friday

night in late September and Jane was looking forward to dancing

and listening to the music. I said, “No, I want to sit on our

balcony, drink some brandy, and have a serious talk.” I looked

into her eyes and saw the fear and worry surface immediately.

“Oh,” she said, weakly, “sure, if that’s what you want to

do … fine.” She left to go to the ladies’ room and I sat there

as scared as I’ve ever been. I really didn’t want to do this,

but I knew it was time. I couldn’t figure out why I was so

concerned over hurting my lady of the moment when I had left a

trail of hurt people behind me already. When she came back to

the table I could see she had been crying. Dammit, she knew!

Our walk back to the hotel was silent. We held hands or, I

should say, I held hers which was like the proverbial limp

dishrag.

We sat on two chairs between which was a small round

table. I had opened a bottle of Remy-Martin and had two brandy

glasses, partially filled, in front of us. She looked at me

tearfully with those pale blue eyes. “This is it, isn’t it,

you’re leaving me. You’ve finally grown tired of me and are

going to dump me and go on to your next adventure.”

I tried to take both of her hands into mine but she just

stared at me hatefully. “Jane, I’m not tired of you … really.

In fact, I think I love you, but where are we going? Surely, you

knew it couldn’t go on forever.”

She walked to the edge of the balcony with her back to me.

“Great. So now what happens to me? I suppose I’m

supposed to play the guitar in the Metro in my designer clothes.

You’re some piece of work, Bob. Yes, if you want to know, I did

think it would last forever. You never gave me any indication

that it wouldn’t. I guess you treat every urchin you pick up on

the street like this. How was I to know you’re just playing a

big game? I really thought you had finally found happiness with

me, but I’m just another stop along the way.”

She turned around and her face was filled with hate. She

stalked past me into the cottage and started to throw her clothes

into suitcases.

I followed her into the cottage and tried to explain.

“Look, calm down. First of all, I’m not going to send you back

to the Metro. I’m going to buy you first-class airfare back to

America. You’re very talented. You’ll be able to make a living

again with your music. I’m also going to give you a lot of money

so you can get a start.”

She looked at me with more hate than ever. “So that’s

what I am … an expensive hooker. Hey, maybe that’s what I

should do. I’ll peddle my ass for money. Obviously, I must be

pretty good at it.” She was on me in an instant, pounding her

fists into my chest and screaming shrilly.

“You bastard, you bastard, you bastard … Why didn’t you

just leave me in the Metro? I never would have known a life like

this and I never would have fallen for a phony son of a bitch

like you. You’re a sham, a fucking sham. I hate your guts.”