Too Easy (16 page)

Anne stops. “You do, Edd, or you don't?”

“Anne, I've been playing with this one woman for a couple years, Almost three. I know things about her she doesn't know. I mean at the card table. She has these very tiny mannerisms.” He laughs uneasily. “When things get tight, I start watching them a lot more closely.”

Anne blinks. Just what she's doing with Robert. But why isn't she any good at it? I've got to get better, she thinks.

Edd misreads her expression. “I hope this doesn't shock you.”

She's glad he misunderstood, plays on it. “Well, Edd. I'm pleased that you are concerned.”

He sighs. “I know some of your mannerisms, too.”

Anne stares again. Intrigued by this, then abashed. The intimacy of the comment unsettles her. “Well,” she says lightly, “I won't ask for examples.”

Edd does something funny with his eyebrows, raising
them a few times. Anne smiles. “Good night, Edd.”

“Bye-bye, Anne.” He walks away toward his car.

She watches him a moment, his lean, straight form, then turns the other way. Glad they're going out to dinner with Sam and Marie, comfortable friends. Get out of the house. That house where they both lie so carefully, all the time apparently.

Anne shakes her head as she walks. She has never thought herself capable of even small lies. As for the man she would marry, complete honesty was always the first requirement. Now look, all of that turned to dust and nonsense. She is lying every minute, what other way is there to put it? She knows about Robert and this woman named Kathy, but she pretends not to, pretends to feel about him as she always did. Well, maybe she does. Robert, meanwhile, is in love with this Kathy, not her, but he pretends their life together is exactly as it always was. Exactly. Unchanged by an eighth of an inch. How big a lie is that? As big as the world, she thinks.

As she slides into her car, she thinks again of the tape. “Kathy, uh, I can't do it now.” The most interesting words she's heard in years. They sound negative, defeated. There's a setback, she feels. And she wonders again what
it
is. And for the twenty-fifth time she comes back to the word
divorce.
How horrifying that Robert has even contemplated this. But how wonderful that he can't do it!

She's trying to think clearly about this. Knowing it's almost impossible for her. He's leaving me, he isn't? She's tossed about between these extremes. I'm living, I'm dying? I'm rich, I'm bankrupt? Who, she wonders, can think clearly about such chasms?

Anne drives the two miles to the restaurant where she's meeting Robert and the other couple. As she pulls into the parking lot, she thinks: Yes, but I'm not bawling like a baby. That's a change, isn't it?

She remembers the several times she almost crashed the car—from not being able to see through her tears. Oh, my God. Just to think about it appalls her. She was going completely to pieces, a nervous breakdown right on the highway.

She's ashamed of herself. Some cop would look down at the wreck and say, Just like a woman. And what could she say in response? Oh, you big brute, you just don't get it, do you? Yes, that would tell him. Right.

Anne laughs for a second. Yes, she's a little cooler now. Definitely. But what does that mean, really? Your heart is dying? You don't care anymore?

Well, I know the worst, and I'm still here. Somebody named Kathy. They're . . . doing it. There, I said it, almost. She laughs again, although faintly.

She stares at the front of the restaurant. Insects circling in the lights over the door. She's a few minutes late. But not enough to matter.

Really, Robert amazes me. That's the main thing. That he could do this, and then pretend he isn't. Do I even know this man?

She gets out of the car and carefully locks it. She starts toward the door. Robert, Robert, Robert, she thinks. Who are you? Who the hell are you?

•  •  •

Robert orders a second bottle of wine. Sam swirls an almost empty glass, goes on talking. “Business is good, I tell you. The President says X, everybody assumes he means Y. Buy! BUY!!”

Anne watches Robert, to see if he reacts to this. My husband, the liar.

“Then later, they wonder, maybe this time he
means
X. No, sell! Goddamn it, SELL! I tell you, I love this guy.”

Marie suddenly excuses herself and leaves the table. Sam gestures after his wife. “She's upset.” He shrugs sadly. “You
know, about having children. Three beautiful Irish setters we've got. They aren't enough. We were arguing coming over. I guess I shouldn't talk.”

Anne stares after the other woman. No, she hasn't seemed happy all evening. Anne guessed what was going on.

Then Sam smiles at them. “But you two. What a couple. I really have to say it. You're so nice to each other.”

Robert leans playfully against Anne's shoulder, places his hand over her arm. “Well, thank you. Hear that, Anne? We're a model couple.”

They stare at each other, and then slowly lean together and kiss. Anne experiences the whole thing very slowly and vividly. Robert's big earnest face, all that hair, the full mouth, his eyes steady as their lips touch. Or are they steady? Robert flicking his tongue in—what?, to make sure she feels his undying passion for her? Anne wondering if she's misunderstood everything. Sam has, or she has, that's for sure. Why can't I just ask him, say, “Robert, what do you
want?
What are you
doing?”

Sam watches them with an approving grin. “See what I mean?” he exclaims. “I love you guys.” He reaches out excitedly for their hands. “Marriage is tough, but you two are naturals. . . . Me, I don't know. Poor Marie.”

Anne wonders if she could just blurt it out, maybe that's the answer. Drink some more wine, pretend to be a little tipsy, say, “Robert has a little secret, don't you, Robert?” Like it's a joke, a silly thing, but keep the pressure on until he has to blurt something himself. “What's the secret's name, Robert? You can tell us. We're all good friends.” Maybe, she thinks, maybe I can do it. . . .

The waiter comes with the next bottle, fills all the glasses. Sam raises his briefly. “Here's to you lovebirds.” He gulps down some more wine. “Hey, you guys are leading me astray. Ever think of that? I don't even drink.” He stares in surprise at his glass.

“This might be the night you make a son,” Robert says, winking at him.

“Oh, bite your tongue. The child would be a wino.” Sam laughs merrily.

Just blurt it out, Anne tells herself, then see what happens. . . . Oh, why is it so difficult? Anne remembers her mother's friend, the one with a strange smell about her, and how her mother could never say anything. “You have to,” Anne lectured her mother, “for her own good. You have to. Maybe it's a medical problem. Just do it.” It seemed so easy. . . . Anne laughs at herself. Sure, it's always easy for
someone else
to do. And that was just this odd smell. Not a marriage, a whole life. . . . No, do it, stumble into it.

Anne makes a show of sipping rapidly from her wine. Get a mood going, some momentum. Maybe somebody will say, “Anne, you're drinking a lot. . . .” Give me an opening.

Marie comes back slowly to the table. Holding herself somewhat stiffly and apart. Anne feels sorry for her.

Then she laughs at this. Oh, Marie, if you only knew about me! If you could hear what your crazy husband just said! Robert and I are naturals?!

Anne finds some last bit of asparagus on her plate, pushes it with her fork. Watching Robert in furtive glances. I married him. I thought I knew him. Now I wonder what he's capable of, and I don't know.

“Desserts,” Robert says, looking around the table. “I saw something on the menu. Chocolate suicide. Now, how can you resist that?”

Anne remembers how Edd said, “I'm just a chocolate kind of guy.” An odd thing for him to say, she thought. But maybe, she thinks now, I'm no longer a good judge of what's odd.

“Yes,” she says, “I'd like a dessert. You, Marie?”

I'm not all that angry, Anne thinks, surprised. I'm not sad. Not mainly. So what am I? Right now? . . . Paralyzed? . . . Yes,
that's true. And I'm . . .
curious.
Yes, I'd like to know just what's going on in my own damned life. Is that so unreasonable? I'd like to know who this man is.
I've got to know.
It's now or never.

A waiter is sticking a menu in her face. She takes it with an irritated grimace.

“Marie,” Sam says loudly, “they're getting me drunk. Anne and Robert. Can you believe these guys?” Again he reaches for their arms. “I love these two.”

Marie watches his grasping hands. They're not grasping her. She sighs heavily. Anne sees her friend's eyes mist.

Darn, Anne thinks, Marie's got the real problem here, the for-sure problem. No, I'd just upset her more. . . . I can't start a scene now. It wouldn't be right. I have to comfort her.

Robert looks out across the restaurant. A successful man, energetic but at ease with life, that's how he appears. With his stylish suit, the blue-striped shirt, the somewhat grand manner. Anne thinks about them going home. They'll undress and lie down together in bed. Maybe they'll kiss good night, maybe they'll do more. Just like any other night. It all seems so bizarre and strange to her now, like odd customs in far-off places, something you read about in an encyclopedia. She stares at Robert's eyes, the set of his mouth, utterly fascinated.

He can't do it
now?
Well, when can he do it? And, if he does, how will he do it? How will he leave me? Kindly and gently? Or will he say, Drop dead, Anne, you're history. I'm out of here.

Anne sighs gently, wipes her mouth with a napkin, trying to conceal the agitation in her mind. That's what's fascinating, she realizes. I don't know any answers. Nothing. The screen's a blank. Her mouth feels dry, and when she tries to make small talk, no words come to mind. Yes, poor Marie, stare at her, look concerned, the men will think that's what I'm worried about. Keep going as if life is normal.

•
 “Yeah, I've got somebody,” Kathy says.

“Well, what's he like?” Stephanie says, leaning forward eagerly. “Well?”

Kathy smiles distantly. “You want to get all excited?”

Stephanie, a friend from work, shrugs and strokes her drink. “I wouldn't mind one bit.” She laughs. “Until the real thing shows up.”

They're at a little table in a bar on East 63rd Street. Noisy after-work crowd, mostly standing and milling around. Men in suits, women in office clothes, everybody grinning and talking a lot. Kathy isn't about to tell Stephanie about Robie. But she can't be too coy, either, or Stephanie will figure it out, maybe make lucky guesses.

“He's in Philly,” Kathy says with a little sigh. “A management consultant. He comes up most weekends.”

“So, it's serious? Or do we smile at these guys?” Stephanie
carefully scans the room. “Nice place. Some good material.” She snickers, looking back at Kathy.

“Let's play hard to get,” Kathy says. Trying to keep Stephanie in low gear. Kathy figures this is the kind of woman who'll spill a drink on the first thing in pants—“Oh, I'm so sorry, let me wipe that off.”

Stephanie frowns, goes back to stroking her glass.

Kathy feels just a little down. Disappointed, really, although she tries not to think that word or feel that emotion. She glances briefly at the faces of the men, just to see if there's any reaction. Remembering that first time she saw Robert Saunders, how she knew right away. She remembers the exact words she thought then.
That's the one, that's the man.

I always had good instincts, she thinks. Never had any reason to doubt them. I see something I want, I know it's something I really want. But that's only half of it. Something I want, something I
should
have. For my sake, for his sake.

Kathy shakes her head, smiling at her thoughts. Damn, I have to say it, it almost felt religious. Like it's our destiny, and God wants it, too. Now, who could I tell
that
to?

Stephanie brightens. “Oh, come on, you're getting off on something. Give me some.”

Kathy smiles in a bored, worldly way, as if Stephanie couldn't really be ready for her beautiful memories. Well, most of them are. Until Robie started to . . . what's the word . . . waver?

“No,” she says, in a softer tone. “I miss him, that's all. You don't have anybody, huh?”

Stephanie tries to joke. “I'm here with you, aren't I?”

“Maybe I'll bring you luck.”

“I'm ready for some of that.” Stephanie sighs heavily. “Tough being a girl in this city. You ever think about leaving?”

“Not now.”

“It's crazy here. Half the guys want to mug you, rape you, something bad. And the other half want to talk about your clothes.
Seriously?”

All he has to do, Kathy thinks, is tell his wife he wants out. That's it. But no, he's got ten reasons why they have to do it the hard way. Okay, I'm in. Then he's slowing down on that, too. I can't do it now, he says. We have to make sure everything is just right, he says. Everything what?

Kathy finishes her drink, gestures to a passing waiter.
Another one of these.

“Me, too,” Stephanie shouts.

What's Robie doing, really? Running in place? Backing up? Damn, I hate to think that.

Kathy feels a tightness along the ribs on her left side. She reaches down for her purse, something to do. She makes a big deal out of finding a five.

No way I could be wrong. But, damn, that's how I know for sure. He does what he has to do.

Kathy grimaces, working to the end of this. . . . If he won't, then he's not the man I'm looking for.