FIFTEEN
In bed that night, I would not give in to Rachel’s advances. She cajoled me, but I would not give in. Her sleep that night was fitful. Periods of restless breathing broken by spasmodic jerks of her body. I slept not at all.
The next day, she was laconic, speaking only to complain. I would not go near her, not touch her. When she idly caressed my face, I imperceptibly moved from her. She took out her cigarettes, smoking one after the other.
“Maybe you should slow down. I can hardly breathe in here.”
“This is my house. I paid for it.”
“Yes, I’m very aware of that.”
“I raised our son in this house.” This was, of course, her trump card. She played it at every opportunity.
“Well, our son doesn’t live here anymore, now does he?”
Rachel ran her fingers through her hair. “You don’t love me, do you? You’ve never loved me, and I’ve loved you more than I love myself.” It was true; she loved me brighter than the sun burned.
“I love you. You know I love you.” I simply said it. The same as I had said it thousands of times before. It was a statement, neither true nor untrue.
“You blame me. Don’t you? For Albert. Look at me!”
I couldn’t look. It was true.
“You hate me. Wish I were dead. I can tell. I’m not crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“Yes you do! I can see it in your eyes. Right now you’re afraid I’ll do something crazy. You’re scared of me.”
“Rachel, I’m not scared of you. You’re my wife. I love you.”
“No you don’t. You can’t love me. You’ve never thought of leaving me?”
I remained silent.
“See! See! I knew it! You want to leave!”
“No. You asked me if I’d ever thought about it. Of course I have. All men think about it at one time or another.”
“Well, let me tell you, you’ll never leave me. Something bad will happen.”
She turned from me. Her shoulders were shaking. Then the stringent smell of burning flesh filled the air.
“Rachel! Rachel, what are you doing?” I turned her to me. She held the burning end of her cigarette to the flesh of her forearm. Ground the hot embers into her skin. “See! This is how much I love you! How much do you love me?”
Once again, I gave in. I held her in my arms, took her to our bed. Gave her her trophy.
At that time, I considered myself, too, to be mentally ill, so I never considered censuring Rachel for her psychotic episodes. I never thought of leaving her. How could I? What chaos might ensue? Would she kill herself? Would she acquiesce, bide her time, then hunt me down and murder me? But most of all, I knew that I could never cause her that much pain. No matter how much I had grown to fear her, I could not inflict that kind of pain on her.
SIXTEEN
I met with Violet every week. I think I must have seemed just another patient to her. She took care of me in the same way she took care of my son. We took hotel rooms. Our relationship grew. It grew only because of familiarity. Love was not involved. For her, I was a diversion, a rich man who took her to nice places and gave her what she thought were extravagant gifts. For me, she was an unknown element. A link to my son, yes, and I confess to eroticizing her relationship with my son. She was our secret. A forbidden flower in a secret garden. She was ours together.
For our relationship to seem to Violet to be a normal one, she expected it to grow in traditional ways. She was aware of my wife and accepted the obvious limitations that imposed; in fact, she relished her role of mistress. She had seen the part played out countless times on countless television dramas. She knew what was expected of her and was aware of what she could expect in return. I admired her for this, and reciprocated by playing my role of adulterer to the hilt. In fact, this idea that we were merely actors in a grand and clandestine play appealed to me immensely. To propagate the illusion and to keep her secure in her role, I bought her gifts. As the drama unfolded, the gifts grew more extravagant. I bought her a finely tailored sable coat that hangs in the closet of her ramshackle mobile home and is worth more than five times the value of her trailer. She knew that as a mistress it was her job to make unreasonable demands of my time. It was my part to object but eventually give in. We planned a weekend excursion to the mountains. There was a cabin there that had belonged to my parents and had since passed to me and Monty. We spent several summers of our childhood there, perpetrating what evils boys might perpetrate. This weekend would be no different. I expected to end my relationship with Violet during this weekend. By then, she would have outlived her usefulness.
When I arrive home after an evening with Violet, Monty is waiting for me in the living room. He stubs out his cigarette in the same ornate crystal ashtray that Albert had used to crack his mother’s skull.
“Where is Rachel?” I ask, alarmed.
“It’s good to see you, too.”
“Sorry. Where is she?”
“Upstairs, asleep. She was very upset.”
“Not exactly unheard of around here.”
“She was upset about this.” He tossed a sheaf of legal papers across the coffee table. “And frankly, so am I.”
The papers were a guardianship agreement. They named Monty as the legal guardian of Albert should something happen to Rachel or me.
“I would think that you of all people would recognize the necessity of these papers,” I said. “If something happens, I don’t want Albert to be forgotten in some basement somewhere. Like us.”
“You know I understand. You know that. And you should know that you don’t need papers for me to look after Albert. I would do it regardless.”
“Then I’m failing to see the problem. We seem to be in agreement here. Rachel and I want you to be Albert’s godfather, and you’ve accepted. Let’s sign the papers.”
“Rachel refuses to sign. And I refuse, too.”
“I don’t understand. It’s for the best. You said yourself-”
“You worry me, Adam. If you had come to me a couple of years ago and wanted to do this, I would have been all for it. Hell, a couple of months ago even, but lately you seem preoccupied. More than that, you don’t seem yourself. I worry about you. And now you come to me with this guardianship idea just out of the blue. It’s like you’re thinking about death. I worry about you.”
“Why? What have I done that is so unusual, so bad?”
“You’re changing.”
“Not for the better, I take it.”
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Monty lit another cigarette and appraised his little brother. We both know that I will always be his little brother, and even where a parent or a spouse can’t, the big brother can always spot the lie. And why shouldn’t he? He taught the little brother how to lie.
“You’re having an affair, aren’t you?”
“Are you my brother or my wife?”
“Rachel has already asked me.”
“If I’m having an affair?”
“Sure.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That you aren’t capable of something like that. That you love her.”
“You told the truth.”
“Now you tell me the truth. You can’t lie to me, you never could. Are you?”
“No.”
“You’re different, Adam. Something about you. Tell me.”
“I do have a secret relationship.”
“With who?”
“A psychiatrist.”
“A shrink? You? You’re the most levelheaded person I know.
“Sometimes I don’t feel levelheaded.”
“Yeah, well, none of us do all the time.”
“I have bad thoughts.”
“Me too. Very bad. So what?”
“Unhealthy thoughts.”
“Okay, okay. Look, if things are really getting that bad, come to me, I’ll help you. You know that I’ll always help you. I always have.”