Yet he didn’t seem to care. He was making as big a decision as he had ever made. He was changing the course of his life, and he knew it. He was settling a barrier between himself and the life he had led with Madelaine, as surely as he sat here, yet he didn’t care.
He knew this was the way it was,because it was.
He did not consider the idea of sin, and he did not consider the idea of adultery. This was real, it was true, it was the way he must live.
Then the Woman turned away from the radio, and unwound the belt that knotted her car coat closed. She stripped off the jacket and hung it carefully in the closet.
At that instant he wondered where she had been going, to be waiting at the bus stop, and if it could have been so unimportant an engagement that she could break it to bring him here like this, a stranger.
But he also knew, in that instant, that she had wanted him … not just any man, not anybody, but him
Him, pure and simple and direct and true. The way it should have been. The way it was meant to be. The way the world saw it and the way it was going to be. The way it was.
She faced him, and he was assured of her beauty. It was not a cheap or a superficial beauty. She was a handsome Woman, right through and down as deep as anyone could wish. She was not ashamed, for there was nothing to be ashamed of, and she knew what was about to happen, even as he knew.
William watched as she unbuttoned her sweater, folded it precisely on the chair beside the table. He watched with growing expectation, but without a feeling of lechery as she reached behind her and unfastened the brassiere of pink material. He stared calmly at the shape of her breasts, so warm and inviting, and as she stepped close to him, signifying he should unzip her skirt, he knew this would not be the last time he would see the Woman. He knew, as his fingers touched the warm metal, that he would see her again, and whether on the subway, or on the street, or in the pharmacy, it would always end like this. That they would never say a word, and that they would never know each other’s name, but that it would be just like this over and over again.
And it was right. It was the way it should be.
She slid the skirt down off her hips, the silky sound of her slip rustling making the only sound over the quiet dinner music so typical of his apartment down the street.
She folded the skirt properly and laid it beside him on the sofa. She put her thumbs between the silk of her slip and the dark blue of her pants, and pulled down the half slip. It went atop the skirt, and somehow that seemed so right, also.
She took him by the hand and they went into the bedroom. As he watched in the filtered light from the living room, light that cast an aura around her, touching the faintly blond hairs that covered her body like down, she turned back the covers of the bed.
Then she sat down on the bed, and unfastened her stockings, removed her shoes and took off the nylon hose, the garter belt and, finally, raised herself so she could slip out of the dark blue underpants. Then she lay back on the bed, perfectly flat, like a painting of exquisite gentleness.
Afterward, she went into the bathroom and locked the door. He knew what she meant. That it was through for this time, and that she wanted no money, that she had done it because she had done it, and there were no recriminations, no apologies, nothing to be said. It was done, and she had wanted him as William, with a false plate, and with heartburn and with a bank balance of $612.08. Jointly in his wife’s name.
He dressed quickly and left the apartment, not even taking notice of the number on the door. He would know it when he came again, for he would not come alone. He would be led by her, and he would never come there unless she did lead him; that was the silent bargain they had made.
He knew every line of her body, as well as he had grown to know Madelaine’s in the ten years of their marriage. He knew the feel of her hair and the scent of her body. He knew where every bit of furniture stood.
He walked out onto the street, and the air had turned chillier. But he walked slowly, feeling the string of the air as he drew it into his lungs.
There had been nothing said, but the message was there for always.
He opened his apartment door with his key and walked in. Madelaine hurried out of the kitchen at the sound of the closing door and stared at him oddly, hands on hips, eyes sparkling.
“Bill, where were you? I’ve already eaten, and Roxanne too. We went ahead. The chops are cold. I’ll have to heat them for you now. We ate them without ketchup. Where were you?”
William handed her the bottle of ketchup in its brown paper bag, and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
His mind was quiet, and there was a feeling of fulfillment that mounted to his chest as he said, “I met an old, old friend. We had a few things to say to one another.”
And he did not lie.