In the end, although she seemed to fight so hard, it was an easy choice to make, and her whole life seemed like a dream now as she went to work every day, sometimes after he had spent the night with her. His children were used to his spending a few nights in town. And the house in Greenwich was efficiently staffed now, Arthur was no longer as worried about them, although Ann and Billy had had a hard time at first when Marie left, but they seemed less anxious about it now. And once they met Jean, it was as though they had always been old friends. She took them to movies with Tana constantly, bought them toys, shopped for their clothes, drove their car pools, went to their schools, and their school plays when Arthur was out of town, and she took even better care of him. He was like a well-fed cat, polishing his paws by the fire and he smiled at her one night in the apartment he'd gotten her. It wasn't sumptuous, but for Tana and Jean, it was more than enough, two bedrooms, a living room, dining room, handsome kitchen. The building was modern and well built and clean, and they had a view of the East River from the living room windows. It was a far cry from the elevated train in Jean's old apartment.
“Do you know,” she looked at him with a smile, “I've never been happier in my life.”
“Neither have I.”
But that was only days before Marie Durning tried to take her own life. Someone told her that Arthur was having an affair, although they didn't say with whom, and things were touch and go with her after that. Six months later, the doctors began talking of letting her go home, and by then Jean had worked for Arthur Durning for over a year. Tana was happy in her new school, new home, new life, as was Jean. And suddenly it was as though everything stopped. Arthur went to see Marie and came home looking grim.
“What did she say?” Jean looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. She was thirty years old now. She wanted security, stability, not a clandestine affair for the rest of her life. But she had never objected to their life because she knew how desperately ill Marie Durning was, and how it worried him. But only the week before he had been talking about marriage to Jean. He looked at her now with a bleak expression she had never seen before, as though he had no hope left, no dreams.
“She said that if she can't come home to us, she'll try to commit suicide again.”
“But she can't do that to you. She can't keep threatening you for the rest of your life.” Jean wanted to scream, and the bitch of it was that Marie could threaten, and did. She came home three months after that, with only a tenuous grip on her own sanity. She was back at the hospital by Christmas that year, home by spring, and this time she held out until fall, and began drinking heavily over bridge lunches with her friends. All in all it went on for more than seven years.
When she came out of the hospital the first time, Arthur was so upset that he actually asked Jean to help her out. “She's so helpless, you don't understand … she's nothing like you, sweetheart. She can't cope … she can barely think.” And for love of Arthur, Jean found herself in the unenviable position of being the mistress caring for the wife. She spent two or three days a week, during the day, in Greenwich with her, trying to help her run the house. Marie was desperately afraid of the help; they all knew that she drank. And so did her kids. At first they seemed to view her with despair, and eventually with scorn. It was Ann who hated her most, Billy who cried when she got drunk. It was a nightmarish scene, and just like Arthur, within a few months, Jean was trapped. She couldn't let her down, let her go … it would have been like deserting her parents. It was as though this time she could make things happen right. Even though, in the end, Marie came to an almost identical end as Jean's parents. She was going to meet Arthur in town for a night at the ballet, and Jean swore that she was sober when she left, at least she thought she was, but she must have had a bottle with her. She spun out on an icy patch on the Merritt Parkway halfway to New York, and died instantly.
They were both still grateful that Marie never knew of their affair, and the agony of it all was that Jean had been fond of her. She had cried at the funeral more than the children had, and it had taken her weeks to be willing to spend a night with Arthur again. Their affair had gone on for eight years, and now he was afraid of what his children would say. “In any case, I've got to wait a year.” She didn't disagree with that, and anyway he spent a great deal of time with her. He was thoughtful and attentive. She had never had any complaints. But it was important to her that Tana not suspect their long-standing affair but finally a year after Marie died, she turned and accused Jean.
“I'm not stupid, you know, Mom. I know what's going on.” She was as long and lanky and beautiful as Andy had been, and she had the same mischievous light in her eyes, as though she were always about to laugh, but not this time. She had hurt for too long, and her eyes almost steamed as she glared at Jean. “He treats you like dirt and he has for years. Why doesn't he marry you instead of sneaking in and out of here in the middle of the night?” Jean had slapped her for that, but Tana didn't care. There had been too many Thanksgivings they spent alone, too many Christmases with expensive boxes from fabulous stores, but no one but the two of them there, while he went to the country club with his friends. Even the year that Ann and Billy were gone with their grandparents. “He's never here when it counts! Don't you see that, Mom?” Huge tears had rolled down her cheeks as she sobbed and Jean had had to turn away. Her voice was hoarse as she tried to answer for him.
“That's not true.” “Yes, it is. He always leaves you alone. And he treats you like the maid. You run his house, drive his kids around, and he gives you diamond watches and gold bracelets and briefcases and purses and perfume, and so what? Where is he? That's what counts, isn't it?” What could she say? Deny the truth to her own child? It broke her heart to realize how much Tana had seen.
“He's doing what he has to do.”
“No, he's not. He's doing what he wants to do.” She was very perceptive for a girl of fifteen. “He wants to be in Greenwich with all his friends, go to Bal Harbour in the summer, and Palm Beach in the winter, and when he goes to Dallas on business, he takes you. But does he ever take you to Palm Beach? Does he ever invite us? Does he ever let Ann and Billy see how much you mean to him? No. He just sneaks out of here so I won't know what's going on, well I do … dammit … I do.…” Her whole body shook with rage. She had seen the pain in Jean's eyes too often over the years, and she was frighteningly close to the truth, as Jean knew. The truth was that their arrangement was comfortable for him, and he wasn't strong enough to swim upstream against his children. He was terrified of what his own children would think of the affair with Jean. He was a dynamo in business, but he couldn't fight the same wars at home. He had never had the courage to call Marie's bluff and simply walk out, he had catered to her alcoholic whims right till the end. And now he was doing the same with his kids. But Jean had her own worries too. She didn't like what Tana had said to her, and she tried to talk to Arthur about it that night, but he brushed her off with a tired smile. He had had a hard day, and Ann was giving him some trouble.