After the Fall (22 page)

LUKE
•

Do you know how they do those tests—the ones that Cress insisted on, for AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases, as if I’d been sleeping with half of Melbourne instead of just one other woman in the past three years? First you take off everything from the waist down, then clamber inelegantly onto some stained examination couch while the nurse snaps on a pair of rubber gloves behind you. Next she’s grasping your old fellow between her finger and thumb as if it were a dead mouse, then zeroing in on her target with something that looks like a long cotton swab. Before you can even comprehend what she’s going to do with it the swab has been rammed down the eye of your penis like a ferret sent into a rabbit hole. As if that weren’t enough it is then rotated—once, twice—and withdrawn with the same breathtaking brutality. I’m not ashamed to admit that the whole procedure almost reduced me to tears.

Counseling was only marginally less painful. If I had to attend I’d wanted us to see a man, someone who might understand my point of view. No such luck. Cress had chosen a woman. Not only that, but a colleague—someone she knew from the pediatric psych department who conducted what she termed “relationship therapy” on the side. I asked our new counselor why at our first session, and she bristled as if accused.

“It’s a natural extension of my work with children,” she’d said with a sniff. “Every one of us is a product of our childhood; ergo, it makes sense to look for the roots of our adult behaviors and dysfunctions in the patterns of our infancy and upbringing.” I almost groaned aloud. Any hopes I had of being done with counseling in a session or two were swiftly dashed.

The appointments were held at the hospital, after hours. After everyone else’s hours, that is, Cressida invariably arriving late and distracted or slotting in the meeting in the middle of a shift. Hardly neutral ground or ideal conditions, and I told her so.

“And just what is ideal about meeting to discuss your infidelity?” she shot back, and I retreated. She’d grown a tongue since we separated, developed opinions and a blunt streak I barely recognized in my previously compliant wife. It was attractive, though, probably because it reminded me of Kate. Lots of things did that: the dark-haired girl whom I spotted once at an industry luncheon, a fig tree coming into bloom at the end of my street, the long evenings I would once have filled talking to or spending with her. Funny how things change. A month ago I was dividing my time between Kate and Cress, rushing from one beautiful woman to be with the next. Now, I was beached in the spare room of Tim’s tiny apartment, and most nights it was Joan I came home to.

My test results were fine. NAD, to use Cress’s hospital parlance: no abnormalities detected. I wasn’t surprised—what were the odds? Kate hadn’t been with anyone but Cary for the seven years before we took up, and he hardly looked the type to have introduced any microbes of his own. The nurse who gave me the news didn’t even smile. It was the same one who had performed the examination, features set rigid with disapproval—I don’t imagine many happily monogamous types felt the cool pinch of her latex. Still, I guess it had been a useful exercise, and gave me some hope for the future. Surely Cress wouldn’t have asked me to submit to such indignities if she weren’t considering that we might sleep together again someday? The thought filled me with anticipation. I missed sex. Oh, I missed Cress too, of course, still hoped the marriage could be saved, but it had been six weeks since I had seen a woman undressed, the longest period of abstinence I had endured since losing my virginity at the age of fifteen. Once or twice I thought vaguely about going back to the bars where Tim and I had hung out before I met Cress, seeing if I couldn’t just get some relief for the night. But I didn’t follow through. For one it was too risky—if Cress found out she would never speak to me again. The other reason was less comprehensible. Whenever I entertained such thoughts I found myself feeling unfaithful to Kate. Not to my wife, with whom I was trying to reconcile, but to Kate. The one who had caused all this trouble in the first place; the one whom I’d agonized over, but hadn’t chosen. Sometimes the feeling was so strong it made me question my decision. I never let myself dwell on it, though, never once gave in to the temptation to grieve or even despair. What was done was done and for good reasons, though I couldn’t really remember them now. All I’d wanted from Kate was a year, and she hadn’t even granted that. Most mornings I ached for her, but if she felt the same pain surely she would call? Yet the phone remained as quiet as my evenings.

CRESSIDA
•

The first three sessions went okay. Not brilliantly, but okay. I trusted Robyn, our therapist, and thought we could get somewhere—maybe not to the point where I would take Luke back, but could at least start to understand his behavior. I’d arrived at the first session wanting to get straight into it, hungry for details, the whole sordid picture. Robyn’s plan, though, was to work up to that slowly, to have us talk about our families and establish a context, as she put it. Once upon a time I would have blindly gone along with her recommendations. Now I found myself wondering somewhat cynically if she wasn’t just trying to spin things out to make a bit of extra money. Gain from pain. Someone might as well, I suppose.

I have to admit, though, that what followed was more interesting than I’d expected. My own story was fairly straightforward: youngest sibling in a high-achieving family, all three offspring following in their father’s footsteps. We didn’t see one another very often, but that was just because of work.

“Your mother,” Robyn prompted. “What about her?”

I shrugged. We were close, I guess—she’d acted as both parents when I was growing up, my father so often absent at the hospital. Now she lived a life of genteel boredom, her days spent fund-raising and hankering for grandchildren.

“I wonder if you were looking for a father figure in your own marriage, Cressida?” Robyn mused. I scoffed at the idea. Luke was too virile for any such Oedipal role.

“No,” she persisted, “I meant somebody you could look up to, maybe even revere. Someone to set an agenda that you could fall into line with.” I hadn’t thought of it that way.

Then it was Luke’s turn. Another youngest sibling, but this time the yearned-for boy finally appearing after three girls. Robyn’s eyes lit up when he told her that.

“He’s grown up on a diet of female attention,” she theorized, as if Luke were absent or anesthetized. “Maybe that’s the only way he functions.” I was liking this approach more and more until she turned to me and asked, “Do you think it’s fair to expect him to change?” Luke looked smug and I wanted to hit him. I knew he liked women; I’d turned a blind eye to his flirting for years. But he hadn’t slept with his sisters, had he?

At the third appointment we talked about sex. Just in general, no specifics—I was still waiting for those. By this stage I was beginning to wonder if it really was such a good idea to have a colleague acting in this way. I’m sure Robyn was too professional to gossip to anyone about our sessions, but even the idea of one person walking around the hospital knowing how I liked it made me uncomfortable. So I lied a little, bent the truth. I told her that I wasn’t very sexually experienced when I met Luke rather than admit I had still been a virgin. He glanced over at me quizzically but said nothing, and I could see him saving up the falsehood as future ammunition. I also informed her that we’d had a great sex life, with nothing wrong as far as I was concerned. That wasn’t entirely the truth either, though Luke didn’t question that one.

Not having anyone to compare him with, I had always assumed that Luke was a good lover. To be fair, mostly he was. But before we separated I had begun to feel that it was all on his terms—we did what he liked, and when. I hadn’t had much chance to ever experiment for myself; rather, Luke had taught me his tastes and procedures. Still, I knew my own performance wasn’t faultless. I was thankful the session ended before Robyn had a chance to quiz Luke about our connubial compatibility, but I could guess what he would have said. That while I never refused him I never instigated sex either—I was always too tired, or preoccupied with the problems of my day. Sexually speaking, that was our biggest issue, but maybe there were others. Perhaps I was too modest for his tastes, not given to slutty lingerie or screaming out his name loudly enough to wake the neighbors. Perhaps I was too passive, letting him set the pace because I felt gauche and naive in comparison to his obvious experience. Maybe he just got bored. After all, there must have been something missing for him to do what he did.

But missing or not, the session in Robyn’s office had obviously put him in the mood. After the hour was up he asked me to join him for dinner, and when I refused he suggested coffee instead. I wavered, glancing at my watch. My shift was officially over for the day, though I had letters to write and charts to update. More to the point, could I bear to be alone with him, a hostage to his charm and our history? It had been two months since I’d thrown him out. The initial shock was gone but the pain was still well and truly there, throbbing darkly in the background of everything I did, malignant as a heart murmur. On the other hand it was only coffee. We’d have to start talking again sometime, if only to work out details of the property settlement. So I said yes, stipulating that I wanted to be back on the ward by eight. He agreed, smiling, though it could have been a smirk.

Inevitably, though, we were still there at nine. By limiting our conversation to purely trivial matters I found I could relax enough to enjoy myself. We talked about our work, the weather, his sister who was pregnant. I told him about a patient with Tourette’s syndrome who had insulted all the nurses; he made jokes about the cleaning regimen Joan had imposed at Tim’s apartment. It was easy and fun. If I tried I could almost imagine we were dating again. Later Luke insisted on walking me back to the hospital, and when I went to say good-bye he kissed me. For a moment I was stunned, but then I felt some sort of current, some remaining vagal impulse. Despite everything I kissed him back.

You know what comes next. We’ve all been there and done that—it’s not original. Let me say, though, that it was my decision, my initiative. Five minutes into kissing Luke my hands were on his chest, then under his shirt. Another five minutes and I was panting against his neck while his fingers slid seductively from my nape to the small of my back, cradling me against his body.

“Come home,” I heard myself saying against his throat.

“Are you sure?” he asked, though one hand was already on his car keys.

I nodded and kissed him again, eyes tightly shut, abandoning myself to the oblivion offered by his mouth. Somehow he disentangled from me and we drove home in silence.

At home I made him leave the lights off. I didn’t want to think about what I was doing, never mind have to see it. Oh, I wanted him, but it was as much about pride as lust. I needed to be assured that he still desired me, that I could still arouse and satisfy him. It turned out that I could, but it was a hollow victory. As soon as he’d finished I wanted him out. Of my bed, my house, my body. I wanted to run to the shower and scrub away all the emissions he’d befouled me with—his sweat and semen, the kisses he’d planted like land mines on my throat and face, the very words he’d whispered while invading me. Instead I lay still, willing him to leave. When it looked as if he would fall asleep I shook him gently and asked him to go, explaining that it was too soon for us to be spending the night together. For a second I thought he would refuse or at least lay claim to that half of the house that was legally his. Fortunately he acquiesced, obviously realizing he’d do well to heed my wishes if he wanted a repeat performance.

There was no chance of that. I hadn’t felt such physical revulsion since my first dissection as a medical student, gagging when the initial incision produced an ooze of yellow pearls, fat globules spilling from the abdomen onto my gloves and the table. Throughout our coupling I couldn’t help but wonder how my body felt under his hands after Kate’s. Did I excite him as much as she did; was I moving in the way he liked? Were my breasts the right shape? Had I moaned enough? He seemed to enjoy himself, but there was no pleasure for me. After a while I faked some in a desperate effort to accelerate the proceedings, shuddering with relief when it was finally over. I slept after he left, but only as a form of escape.

The next morning I took off my rings. For a moment or two over coffee the night before I had allowed myself to think the marriage might be saved, but I should have trusted my premonitions. It was as dead as Emma. I didn’t want to be single, didn’t want the dream-come-true that Luke had seemed to represent to be over. But I knew now there was no way I could go back to sharing a life or even a bed with him. Some things can’t be forgotten. Or maybe they can, but not by me. Whenever he touched me I was going to think of her. Whatever he vowed I wasn’t going to believe. Maybe he was genuinely sorry that he’d hurt me, but I was beginning to realize that he wasn’t sorry it had happened. And if that was the case, how could I ever possibly be sure it wouldn’t happen again?

I hadn’t removed my rings since my wedding day almost two years earlier, though they slid off without protest. The skin underneath was as pale and vulnerable as the belly of a frog. I tucked the wedding band away in my jewelry box on the dresser, careful not to read the inscription inside. The engagement ring was more valuable and would have to go somewhere else. Maybe to the bank, to my family’s safe-deposit box, at least while I worked out what to do with it. But before I thought about that I had another task. I sat down at the computer and drafted a letter accepting the fellowship. For weeks I’d put off giving them an answer, citing personal reasons, but now I had made up my mind. There was no future with Luke. I’d create a new one for myself elsewhere.

LUKE
•

I always assumed that Cress would have me back. That she would throw her little fit—she deserved that—but if I behaved myself and said the right things we would go on as before. That was why I had chosen her, after all: because given that I loved them both, it was simply easier to stay with the one I was already married to. Wasn’t a reconciliation what the counseling was about, and all those hideous tests? I wouldn’t have agreed to either if I hadn’t thought they were prerequisites for getting my foot back in the door. Maybe I should have just kissed Cressida that evening after coffee, left her wistful and wanting in the way that had worked so well before we were married. I could have drawn things out until she was so mad for it that continuing the separation would have been the last thing on her mind. But for once I wasn’t working to a plan.

Maybe I should have just kissed her, but the desire I felt for Cress that night was undeniable. Cress is a beautiful woman, and I’d been abstinent for what seemed like years. But the desire was triggered by more than that, by something I couldn’t name at the time: relief. Relief that we had been talking so easily, that she was smiling at me again, that the end was in sight. It’s a heady aphrodisiac, more potent than I could have imagined. She appeared to feel the same way. Her mouth opened when I kissed her; she was ready for me almost as soon as we got home. Right at the end she cried out my name and quivered with pleasure, something that rarely occurred. I wanted to stay but left when she asked me to, figuring it was just another hoop to jump through.

The next day, though, she canceled the rest of our counseling sessions. Didn’t even tell me personally, just left a brief message on my voice mail at work at a time she must have known I wouldn’t be in. I tried to call her, but she didn’t answer the page. I even dropped past our house that night, hoping to speak to her, but the windows were dark and her car wasn’t in the driveway.

Another week went by with no further contact. I reassured myself that it would all be okay, that she was simply playing hard to get. Just in case it was more than that I drafted a conciliatory letter, planning to send it if we still hadn’t spoken in a couple weeks. Really, I should have done that in the first place—I’ve sold more dubious products using such skills. But before the deadline had been reached Tim came home with some news.

I was in the kitchen helping myself to one of his beers when I heard his key in the door. I’d just gotten in from work myself, and was relieved to see that for once he was alone: most nights he showed up with Joan, for whom familiarity was fast breeding contempt as far as I was concerned. It wasn’t that she was boring or unattractive, the two qualities I most detest in a woman. It was just that she was loud. Opinionated, rather. Headstrong. Determined that not only should everyone know her views, but they should share them. We’d clashed more than once, arguing about topics ranging from rain forests to rugby, bickering back and forth while Tim stood between us practically wringing his hands. Some of the time I actually agreed with Joan, yet found myself taking the opposite side just for the pleasure of seeing her rise to the bait. It wasn’t as if I had anything much else to entertain me.

“Luke,” Tim called out in greeting as he unlaced his shoes. Joan had decreed that we all remove our footwear at the door for fear of tracking in dirt.

“Want a beer?” I asked, hastily proffering my own.

“Nah, I’m going out. We’re due at Joan’s parents’ for dinner.”

“Big night then. Sure you don’t need something to dull the pain?”

“Oh, they’re all right,” he replied loyally. “Not as fancy as your in-laws, but her mom’s a great cook.”

I had begun to make myself a sandwich but looked up at that. Tim hadn’t mentioned Cress or anything to do with her ever since our conversation when I had first moved in. He sat down on the couch with his back to me, ostensibly flicking through the newspaper. I knew there was more.

“Speaking of which,” he continued, choosing his words carefully, “I caught up with Cressida today.”

“Oh, yeah?” I replied nonchalantly. Two could play this game. Hell, I could best Tim at any game I chose.

“Yeah. She said she’s accepted the fellowship—you know that she was offered it?”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. It had been something we’d discussed over coffee, though at that time she’d confessed she still didn’t know what to do. Her doubt had given me the confidence to make my move.

“Anyway,” he said when I failed to respond, “she’s off to Michigan sometime next month. It’s all happening pretty quickly. I suppose she’ll have a farewell drinks night or something.”

I almost cut my hand off with the bread knife. Michigan, next month. I couldn’t believe she was doing it, and without me. Nice to have been told.

“Luke? You okay?” asked Tim, finally turning around.

“Yeah, great,” I replied, quickly shoveling the sandwich into my mouth so he wouldn’t expect me to talk. I tried to escape to my room, but Tim hadn’t finished.

“I assumed you probably knew,” he said with more than his usual lack of insight. “Listen, I don’t want to sound rude, but maybe once she’s gone you could move back home? I’m sure you’re ready for your own place again, and it’s getting pretty crowded with all those boxes in the hall….”

I was chewing furiously but I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, as if the bread were made of bubble gum. People were lining up to throw me out of their lives. I nodded in reply and tried to swallow, though the last thing I felt was hungry.

My immediate reaction was to get Cress on the phone and beg her to reconsider. I even went so far as to dial the number, only to hear the answering machine click in as it had every day for the last few weeks. I hung up without leaving a message. She knew I’d been trying to reach her, yet had made this decision regardless; must in fact have made it a while ago to already have a departure date. Then another impulse: call Kate. Throw myself on her mercy, plead that I’d made the wrong decision. Obviously I had anyway. Yet even as I tried to remember her phone number I came to my senses. It had been over two months since we’d spoken, and that hadn’t been the most encouraging of good-byes. I’d thought about her every day since; truly I had. But what would that count for against the decision I’d made, the weeks of silence, choosing—eventually—Cress over her? Kate had a fierce pride, and would never settle for being second best. She would hang up before I had a chance to tell her that I still loved her.

I finished my sandwich sitting on the floor of Tim’s spare room, my back against the door. I didn’t think he’d try to come and talk to me, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I didn’t want his sympathy. From two to zip, with only myself to blame. My marriage was over; Kate would never speak to me again. She suddenly seemed far away, ethereal, like a dream I once had and had woken up still believing. Cressida was more real, but moving quickly in the same direction. And all I felt was numb, too tired from chasing one, then the other, to realize I’d lost them both.

The light outside had faded, but I didn’t bother to get up and close the blinds. I wasn’t going to sleep anyway. My agency was looking for employees to relocate to the office they were setting up in the U.S. Morning would come. I’d let them know then.