But I felt like a bitch. Disappointment was something I never learned to accept maturely. I was hurt and mad, and I blamed Mark. I know that was unreasonable, and it wasn't his fault. But I had to blame someone!
"I guess that means what we planned is off," I said bitterly.
"What do you mean?" he asked. My opening: "You know." The words came out icily cold.
"What do you mean?"
"Forget already?"
"Wendy, I really don't know-oh! You mean the hotel. Go away for the weekend!"
"Yes. Or was that just an empty promise, too?"
"No. Of course we'll go away! Next week. After I come home. I promise."
I lapsed into silence again.
Mark touched the side of my face and tried to lean forward to kiss me. I pulled my face away. I'd gotten to the point to where I'd accepted the disappointment, but still didn't like it.
"Don't be like that," Mark said. He tried to kiss me again. I turned my face and he kissed me on the cheek.
I tried one more possibility. "Could I come with you?" I asked.
"Oh, Wendy!" Mark said. Anguish filled the words. I could guess the answer from the way he had said my name.
"Well?"
"You know that'd be impossible. The company's paying for my fare. We can't afford-"
"Not even a birthday present?"
"That's unfair, Wendy."
"Of course it was: that's why I asked it."
"Look," Mark began. "Even if we could afford for you to come, there would be nothing for you to do. I have meetings, appointments, presentations to make. It's a business trip, Wendy!"
I was tempted to say-"What kind of business"-but I swallowed the sarcasm and kept it to myself.
Mark smiled. "I'm sorry, hon."
I was playing with the bread crumbs scattered across the kitchen table. I was rolling them around with the tip of my finger.
"Say." Mark said. His voice was bright and happy, as though everything was settled. "What's for dinner? I'm starved!"
Dinner!
"The chicken!" I exclaimed. I'd forgotten it.
I ran to the oven and threw it open. Burnt.
I couldn't help it. I just started to cry.
"Ah, come on, honey," Mark said. He held me in his arms. "Don't cry. Well eat out tonight."
The chicken! I thought. Does he really think I'm crying over the chicken!
Chapter 9
Thirty-six, I thought.
I lay in the dark bedroom staring up at the ceiling. I'll be thirty-six years old. Four years from forty. God! What happened to my life. What happened to all the things I was going to do? All the places I was going to go?
I turned over and looked at Mark. He had his back to me and he was snoring.
I thought about Fran and Kenny again. Only this time I didn't think about them with any sexual memories. They were just old friends from the past. Friends from when Mark and I were still young, and had our whole lives still to happen…
Jesus! I said to myself. I sound as if I'm going to die! I'm reacting to it as though my life was over all ready. I'm only going to be thirty-six. It's not the end of the world, for god sakes., Then why did it seem that way? Why is it depressing the shit out of me!
I wondered whether it was because I was going to celebrate the day alone.
No, I told myself. That's not it, although it must have something to do with it.
I started to think about Lynda. She's so young and naive! Guilty! She's got her whole life to live yet, and she wastes happiness on guilt. How foolish and wasteful. Life's too short for that. Thirty-six!
I looked around the dark room: at the furniture, the room, the house itself. I thought about Mark and the kids and the bills.
This is it, baby! I told myself. For the rest of your life-this is it.
I looked at the ceiling, then around to the walls. My eyes traveled from one wall to another. The room was like a cage. I felt trapped!
Thirty-six years old. The dreams are behind you now, I told myself. I was married, I had children and my own house. What else was there to want? What else was there to dream about? Keeping my health? Seeing my grandchildren?
Where did it all go? I wondered. The things you dream about and work for. Suddenly you have them all, and then what's left A big emptiness.
Thirty-six!
The realization was incredible! I've never thought of myself as thirty-six. Or thirty-five, or thirty-four, or even thirty! I've always thought of myself as a young girl… sixteen… twenty…
Now I'm a woman. A mother. A thirty-six-year-old woman.
The idea made me mad. I felt cheated! It seemed over before I had a chance to realize how important it was.
I wanted to run, get out of the house, escape somehow.
I stood up and walked back and forth in the silent bedroom. I felt age and anxiety creeping up and down my spine, chilling my blood.
I had to get away, I knew.
It had been Mark's idea, actually. He was still feeling guilty about the disappointment. "Go away for the weekend," he told me. "Leave the kids with your Mother and go see your sister, Gloria. Stay with her for the weekend. It will do you good to get away for awhile."
I'll do just that, I told myself in the dark room. I'll get away… but it won't be to my sister's house!
I'll leave the kids with Mom, I planned. Tell her I'm going over to Lynda's father's house. I'll tell her he's very sick, and I want to stay with Lynda. Help her out for the weekend. She'll believe me. She'll understand.
Then, without the kids or Mark or this house, I'll be free! At least for this weekend, I'll be free!
Mark's idea was a good one-spend my birthday in the city at a hotel. Breakfast in bed. All kinds of breakfasts. I'll celebrate alone. Happy birthday, Wendy!
I smiled to myself in the dark. Well, I thought. I won't be celebrating my birthday completely alone…
I laughed out loud.
"Huh! What was that?" It was Mark. I'd awakened him.
"It's me, honey," I said. "I can't sleep. Just restless, I guess."
"Why don't you take a pill or something." A pill. "I don't think a pill will help," I said. "Well, come on back to bed then," he said. "It's late. I have to catch a plane in the morning."
"Okay."
I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, thinking. I was thinking about Ed Richards, the boy from the magazine company. That confident, self-assured sonofabitch! I hated him for a moment.
I slid under the covers, over next to Mark. His body was warm, and I snuggled against him. He put his arm around me and held me tightly in his half-sleep.
"Mark," I said.
"What."
"Am I still pretty?"
"What?-Oh, Jesus, Wendy!"
"Am I?"
"Go to sleep, please! It's late!"
I pulled myself from Mark's arms. I turned away from him and stared out across the dark bedroom, listening to the soft burning of his snores.
Chapter 10
At about ten minutes after six Friday night, I checked into the Park Westmore Hotel.
I'd taken the 4:27 into Penn Station and took a cab uptown to the hotel. Before I'd left home, I had called and made a reservation for myself, and I charged the room on my Diners Club card. That was one advantage in paying all the bills yourself-it was fairly easy to hide something like this from Mark. I signed into the hotel, and a bellhop carried my one suitcase up to the room. I gave him a dollar tip, and he carried my suitcase into the room and placed it on the bed. He smiled, accepted the dollar, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
The room wasn't bad. At least it was fairly large. There was a huge double bed set against one wall, and it occupied most of the space in the room. Across from the bed there was a television. Across from the door, against the far wall, there was a sofa with end tables on either end. Two matching lamps were on the end tables. Behind the sofa there was a solid wall of olive green draperies, somewhat faded in color, and I guess that they covered the windows. In the near corner of the room, there was a single chair. The chair was cheap-looking mod ern-with stripes of brown and black foam cushions supported by thin wooden slats. The chair matched the sofa.