That’s not the way it happened, of course. The way it happened was like this. I did come over with a gift, it wasn’t her birthday, a man named Mike was there when I thought she’d be alone, she said he was a good friend, “in fact, the man I’m sleeping with now,” “Oh,” I said. “Well, I still have this gift for you so you might as well take it,” She said “Really, it wouldn’t be fair.” Mike came into the foyer, introduced himself. “Mike Ivory,” he said. “Jules Dorsey,” I said. “Maybe I shouldn’t stay.” “No, Jules, come in and have a drink. What’ll you have?” “What do you got?” I said. “I don’t know. What do we have?” he said to Arlene. She said “Beer — light and dark — wine — red and white — scotch, vodka, rye, bourbon, gin, brandy and I think a little of that cognac left, and all the mixers to go with them, besides other nonalcoholic stuff if you’re suddenly into that.” “Come on, Jules drinks his share,” Mike said, “or at least will with us here.” “I drink, all right,” I said, “though not that much. But tonight I’d like a double of that cognac you said you have, if you’ve enough for a double.” “Why not — right, Arlene? Want me to get it?” “It’s okay, I’ll get it,” she said, “but what’s a double?” “Just double whatever you normally pour,” he said. “If there’s so little in the bottle that you don’t have enough to double what you normally pour, empty the whole thing in his glass.” “I just usually pour, I don’t know how much,” she said. “So do it that way,” he said, “but double it.” “Fill half a regular juice glass,” I said, “and then put some ice in it, if you don’t mind?” “Ice in one of the best cognacs there is?” he said. “No way, sir. Sorry.” “Then make it your worst cognac,” I said, “but ice in it, please. I feel like a cognac and I feel like a double and I feel like I want that double cognac ice-cold.” “Sorry — really,” he said. “We only have one cognac and it’s one of the rarest there is. Gin, vodka, bourbon, scotch, even the beer, light or dark, I’ll put ice in for you, and the wine, either one, too. But not that cognac or even the brandy. They’re both too good. I’m telling you the truth when I say I couldn’t sleep right tonight if I knew I was instrumental or helpful in any way or even allowed it, just stood by and allowed ice in cognac or brandy when I knew just by saying something I might be able to stop it.” “Listen, you,” I said and grabbed his neck with one hand. He swung at me. I ducked and hit him in the stomach, he fell forward and I clipped him on the back. He went down. I put my foot under his chest and nudged him with it and he turned himself over on his back. I looked at Arlene. Her hands covered her eyes but she seemed to be peeking through the finger cracks. I said to Mike “Probably Arlene won’t like this but I’m going to give you to ten to get your coat and hat and—” “I didn’t come with a coat and hat,” he said. “Then ten just to get the hell out of here.” “Jules, this is awful,” Arlene said, not looking alarmed or frightened or really upset or anything like that. “I don’t care. It’s what I suddenly felt like doing even if I didn’t feel that right about doing it so that’s what I did. Now get, buddy,” I said to Mike. “One, two, three…” He got up, held his stomach as he went to the front door. By the count of eight he was out of the apartment. She said “I hate when anyone does that to people, but I think deep inside I loved it when you did it to him. Not because it was Mike. He’s very nice. It’s just that you were, well — I’ve never seen you like that before. I don’t know what that makes me, but come here, you rat.” I came to her. She mussed my hair, with her other hand slipped off one and then the other of her shoes. “Shall we do it here or in the bedroom?” “Here,” I said, “or the opening part of it, but first let me lock the front door.”
That’s not the way it happened either. It happened like this. Arlene’s my wife. We’ve been married for three years. We lived together for two years before that. We have a nine-month-old son. During dinner Arlene said she wanted a divorce. Our son was asleep in his room. I’d just put the main dish and side courses on the table. I dropped my fork. I was in what could be called a state of shock. I don’t like that term but for now it’ll have to do. Figuratively and maybe in some way literally — technically, scientifically — I was in a state of shock. I didn’t move for I don’t know how long. A minute, two, three. Just stared at my fork on my plate. Till the moment she told me this I thought that though we had some problems in our marriage, they were manageable and correctable and not untypical and that we were serious at working them out. All in all I felt we were very compatible in most ways and that the marriage was a successful one and getting better all the time. Arlene had said it several times — many times — too. About once a month she used to tell me that she loved me and loved being married to me, and about once a month, and not just after she told me this, I’d tell her the same thing. I meant it and felt she meant it. I had no reason to believe she didn’t mean it. This is the truth. Sometimes out of the blue she’d say “I love you, Jules.” Sometimes I’d answer “You do?” and she’d say “Truly love you.”
We could be in a taxi and she’d turn to me and say it. Or walking to a movie theater or in front of a theater during the intermission of a play and she’d break off whatever either of us was saying to say it. At that dinner, which I cooked — it was a good dinner, a chicken dish, rice cooked to perfection — something she taught me how to do — a baked zuccini dish, a great salad, a good bottle of wine, crabmeat cocktail to begin with, two drinks with cheese on crackers before we sat down, we had made love the previous night and we both said later on that it was one of the best acts of lovemaking we’d ever had, our son was wonderful and we loved being parents though admitted it was tough and tiring at times, both of us were making a pretty good income for the first time in our marriage so as a family we were financially sound, nothing was wrong or just about nothing, everything or just about everything was right, so that’s why I say I was suddenly in a state of shock. “You want a divorce?” I finally said after she said “So what do you have to say about what I said before?” “Yes,” she said, “a divorce.” “Whatever for?” “Because I don’t love you anymore,” she said. “But just last week or the week before that you said you loved me more than you ever have, or as much as you ever have, you said.” “I was lying.” “You wouldn’t lie about something like that.” “I’m telling you, I was lying,” she said. “Why don’t you love me anymore?” “Because I love someone else.” “You love someone else?” “That’s what I said, I love someone else.” “Since when?” I said. “Since months.” “And you stopped loving me the minute you started loving him?” “No, a couple of months earlier.” “Why?” “I don’t know. I asked myself the same thing lots of times and all I could come up with was that I felt rather than knew why. You fall in, you fall out. You fall out, you fall in. Though this time I’m sure I’ve fallen in forever, since the feeling has never been stronger.” “I can’t believe it,” I said. “Believe it. I’ve been having the most intense affair possible with a man I met at work — someone you don’t know — and he’s married but will get a divorce to be with me, just as I’m going to get a divorce to be with him.” “But the children, I mean the child,” I said. “We’ll work it out. We were always good at working things out in the past that most other couples never could, and we’ll work this out too. I’ll take Kenneth for the time being and when he’s completely weaned you can have him whenever you like as long as you like so long as it doesn’t disrupt his life too much.” “But just leaving me, divorcing me, breaking up this family, will disrupt his life,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to, I in fact tried not to, but the force of the feeling I have for this man and he for me—” “What’s his name?” “What’s the difference?” “Just tell me his name? Maybe I do know him.” “Even if you did, which you don’t, nothing you could do or say—” “His name, please, his name? I just want to know what and whom I’m up against.” “What could you know by just his name? If it was Butch or Spike or Mike, would it make you feel more or less confident that I’m not very much in love with him and that I’m not going to divorce you to marry him?” “Is it Mike?” “It isn’t, but you know that wasn’t my point. — All right, it is Mike,” when I continued to stare at her as if I’d caught her fibbing, “but so what? Mickey, Michael or Mike, it’s just a given name’” “Mike what?” I said. “Now that’s enough, Jules. I don’t want you starting trouble.” “I won’t start anything. I just want to know the man’s full name. That way I can begin saying to myself you’re leaving and divorcing me and breaking up our family for Mike So-and-So and not just a shadow. I’m not sure why, but it’ll make it seem realer to me and so will be much easier to workout in my head.” “Spiniker,” she said. “Mike Spiniker’” “With an ‘i,’ ‘a’ or ‘e’ or even a ‘u’ on the second half of his last name?” “Now you’re going too far,” she said. “Anyway, good — I have enough. I got up, got the phonebook off the phone stand in the living room. “What are you doing?” she said. “Can’t be too many Mike Spinikers in the book with an ‘a,’ ‘e,’ ‘u’ or second ‘i.’” I looked up his name. “One, a Michael, with two i’s, on Third Avenue.” I dialed him. “Stop that,” she said. “He lives in another city, commutes here.” A woman answered. “Is Michael Spiniker in?” I said. “Who’s speaking?” the woman said. “Lionel Messer. I’m his stocks and bonds man.” “Mike has stocks and bonds? That’s news to me.” “He has a huge portfolio of them and I’ve something very urgent to tell him about them if he doesn’t want to go broke by midnight tonight.” “I’ll get him, hold on.” She put down the phone. “Stop wasting your time,” Arlene said on the bedroom extension. “Hang up. It can’t be him. I’m telling you, he lives fifty miles from here.” “Hey what’s this about stocks and bonds?” Mike said. “Hello, Mr. Spiniker. Do you know Arlene Dorsey? Arlene Chernoff Dorsey — she goes professionally by Chernoff.” “Sure I do. We work in the same office building. But anything wrong? Because I thought this was about some stocks and bonds I don’t have.” “You seem very concerned about Ms. Chernoff. Are you?” “Sure I’m concerned. By your tone, who wouldn’t be? What’s happened?” “You sound as if you’re in love with Ms. Chernoff, Mr. Spiniker. Are you?” “Listen, who is this? And what kind of jerky call is this? You either dialed the wrong Spiniker or you’re crazy and not making any sense, but I’ll have to hang up.” “This is her husband, wise guy, and you better stop seeing her or I’m going to break your neck with my bare hands. If that doesn’t work, I’ll put a bullet through your broken neck. I have the means. And I don’t just mean a weapon or two or people to do it for me — I’ll do it gladly myself. I can. I have. Now do you read me?” “I read you, brother. Okay, fine. You have the right number and you’re not crazy and you’re probably right on target in everything you said, so my deepest apologies for getting excited at you. But let’s say there must be two Michael Spinikers in this city, because I have no stocks and bonds broker and after what you told me, I don’t ever plan to do anything with my money but keep it in the bank, okay?” “Got you,” I said and hung up. Arlene came running back to the living room. “You’d do that for me? You’d really go that far?” “I wasn’t just threatening for effect or because I knew you were on the line. The way I see our marriage is that until it’s clearly impossible to stay together, we’re stuck together for life. Of course I only feel this way because of the kid.” “I bet. You know, awful as this must seem about me, I think my feelings have come around another hundred and eighty degrees. What a husband I now realize I have. And what a weakling and pig that guy was for taking it the way he did, even if you weren’t all bluff, after all he swore the other day about how he’d stand with me against you and his wife when it finally came down to this. I’m sorry, Jules. So sorry, I want to beat my brains in against this chair. If my saying I love you very much isn’t enough, what else can I say or do to prove what I just said is true and that, I never want to stop being married to you?” “You can take my clothes off and carry me to bed.” “Will do if I can.” She put her arms around my waist and tried to lift me. “Oof, what a load. Instead of carrying you, which I no can do, what would you say to my just taking your clothes off and we do whatever you want us to right here on the floor or couch?” “Fine by me,” I said and she grabbed my shirt by the two collar ends and tore it off me.