Hard Feelings (6 page)

The restaurant was small, but surprisingly active. There were about six or seven tables and they were all filled. Doug had made a reservation, so we were seated ahead of the two couples waiting at the door.

Doug worked on Wall Street and he and Paula started a discussion about the stock market. Paula mentioned some stock her company was researching and Doug chimed in with comments about “p.e. ratios,” “hedge funds,” and “the Asian markets.” Judging by their intensity and enthusiasm, I think they both forgot that Kirsten and I were sitting at the table. Finally, I struck up a dull conversation with Kirsten. My initial impression of her was dead-on—beyond her pretty smile there wasn’t much there. She worked as an executive assistant at an ad agency and it seemed as if her responses to anything I said were either “really,” “wow,” or “no way.” She seemed like she would be an easy person to get along with, though—definitely not as headstrong as Paula. It made sense that Doug would be attracted to her, since he seemed like the type of guy who had zero tolerance for opinions that differed from his own.

“So what do you do, Robert?” Doug asked, as if noticing me for the first time.

“It’s Richard,” I said.

“Richard, right. Sorry, must’ve gotten a little heatstroke on the tennis court today.”

Paula laughed.

“I sell computer networking services,” I said.

“Oh, a techie,” Doug said. “Hey, maybe you could swing by my room later and fix my laptop. I can’t seem to get my modem to work.”

“I’m not a computer
technician,
” I said. “I sell networking systems.”

Paula gave me a nasty look.

“Oh, I get it,” Doug said. “So you must go out of town a lot, huh? Leave your wife all alone.”

“No, most of my business is in the city,” I said.

“Oh, well, that’s good,” Doug said. “Of course, at my job I have to travel a lot—meet with division heads all over the world. I just came back from Singapore last week.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Singapore,” Paula said excitedly.

Doug went on, in his loud, grating voice, trying to impress us all with his world travels. Meanwhile, I couldn’t stop noticing the way he was flirting with Paula. He wouldn’t take his eyes off her and he was sitting closer to her than he was to Kirsten.

I watched as Paula seemed to be having the time of her life, drinking wine, laughing at every dumb wisecrack Doug made. Not wanting to get back into the alcohol habit, I was drinking iced tea. I hoped that no one would want to order dessert or coffee so we could get out of the restaurant as soon as possible.

Then I snapped out of my stupor when Doug said, “So are you two planning to start a family soon?”

“In a year or two,” I said.

“No kidding?!” Drinking was making Doug even louder and more boisterous. “So are you going to stay in the city or move to the suburbs?”

“Move to the suburbs,” I said. “That is, if we can ever find a way to unload our apartment.”

“That sounds like a great plan,” Doug said. “I grew up in northwest Jersey, in a house with a big backyard and a tennis court. I don’t think a kid should have it any other way.”

The waiter came and asked if we wanted dessert. At first, everyone said no—thank God—then Doug said, “I can’t resist—I’ll have the
tiramisù.
”

The waiter left and I looked over and saw Paula glaring at me. It was only a quick glance, but I could tell she was furious. I had no idea why. The only reason I could think of was that it had something to do with dessert. Maybe she’d seen me make a face.

For the rest of the meal, I knew Paula was still fuming, but I doubted Doug and Kirsten realized anything was wrong. Finally, the check arrived. Doug suggested we split it down the middle, even though he’d had the most expensive entrée, drank the most wine, and was the only one to order dessert.

Walking back to the inn, Doug said, “You know, there’s a little nightclub in the hotel, in the basement. I don’t think it’s gonna exactly be like the China Club down there, but there’s supposed to be live music. I guess that’s opposed to dead music.” He laughed. “Anyway, it’s probably the most exciting thing to do up here at night.”

I was about to say no thank you, but Paula beat me to it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’m not feeling too well.”

“Oh no,” Kirsten said. “Was it something you ate?”

“I don’t know,” Paula said. “Maybe.”

“Are you all right?” Doug said, overly concerned, as if he were Paula’s father.

“I’m fine,” Paula said. “I just want to go back to the room and rest.”

In front of the inn, Paula and I said goodnight and then we headed through the lobby.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“Just leave me the fuck alone,” she said.

Jesus, here we go again.

“You know, I’m really getting sick of this shit,” I said.

“I really don’t care what you’re getting sick of.”

“Every two minutes getting pissed off at me, having these ridiculous fights.”

We walked upstairs in silence. On the second floor, Paula said, “I’m going to sleep.”

“I wish you would tell me what I did wrong.”

When we were inside the room, Paula said, “Don’t you think we should discuss if or when we’re having children before you start making public announcements?”

“What are you talking about?” I said. “You always said you wanted kids before you were thirty-five.”

“And when was the last time we discussed that?” she said, glaring at me.

“Jesus, why do you have to pick fights about every little thing?”

“Having a family isn’t ‘little’! I haven’t heard you say a word about children since . . . I don’t know when. Then, all of a sudden, it’s all decided—we’re having kids ‘in a year or two.’ ”

“I thought that was the plan.”

“Whose plan? There’s a lot up in the air right now. You don’t know what’s happening with your job, I just got a new job. I’m not ready to stay home and raise a family. And I definitely don’t want to move out of the city to a house in the suburbs—where the hell did you get that idea?”

Paula walked away into the bathroom and I followed her.

“I hope you’re not serious about any of this,” I said.

“I’m very serious,” she said. “I’ve been talking about all of this with Dr. Carmadie. I’m not sure what I want yet.”

“And you say I’m the one who doesn’t discuss things? You’ll talk about kids with your fucking therapist, but you won’t talk to me!”

I felt like I was losing control, that if this went on any further I’d start saying things I’d regret.

“We can discuss it right now if you want to,” she said.

“You know what I think?” I said. “I think this has nothing to do with whether you want kids or not. I think it has to do with me. You’re not sure you want
my
kids.”

“Oh, really—”

“Maybe I’m too lazy for you,” I said. “Maybe you want some arrogant hotshot Wall Street guy like Doug.”

“
What?
”

“I saw the way you were flirting with him, laughing at every fucking word that came out of his mouth, like he was Robin Fucking Williams. See, I’m right—your face is turning red. You
were
flirting with him, weren’t you?”

“Will you shut the hell up?”

“Why don’t you go downstairs and find him—I’m sure Kirsten won’t mind. They’re probably swingers—maybe the two of you could fuck him at the same time.”

Paula had been looking away. Now she turned back toward me and screamed, “Get out of here, you bastard! Get the hell out!”

I stormed out of the room, slamming the door, and took the stairs down to the lobby. I walked toward the tennis courts then, realizing I was cold, I turned around and headed back toward the inn.

Still too upset to go back to the room, I sat on the porch, in one of the rocking chairs facing Main Street. There were two young women on the porch a few yards away from me. They looked like they were in their mid-twenties. One of the girls had long, curly brown hair; the other one had short red hair. They looked bored and very single. They had probably come up here for the weekend from Boston or New York, hoping to meet guys. The dark-haired girl looked over at me. I imagined starting a conversation with her, secretly sliding my wedding ring off and putting it in my pocket, then going back to her room.

Making sure my hand with my wedding band was concealed, I smiled at the dark-haired girl. She seemed surprised, maybe slightly disgusted, and turned back to her friend. A few seconds later, they got up and left.

In the morning Paula and I pretended our fight last night had never happened. We had a nice breakfast at the inn and then we spent the day together, driving around the nearby towns, without arguing at all.

In the afternoon, we headed back to the city, along the winding upstate New York roads. Paula fell asleep, leaning against the door, and I was relaxing, listening to
The Prairie
Home Companion
on National Public Radio, when I saw myself standing outside my old house in Brooklyn, bouncing a basketball. Michael Rudnick came over from across the street and said, “Hey, Richie, wanna play some Ping-Pong?”

“Sure!” I said.

I put my basketball down on the lawn and followed Rudnick to his house.

“So you think you can beat me this time?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“We’ll see about that,” he said.

We went up the driveway and entered the house through the back door. It was dark and very quiet. Rudnick told me to go down to the basement ahead of him and I heard the door close behind us.

We were playing Ping-Pong. The score was 20–14, Rudnick leading. Rudnick served and my return hit the net. Rudnick put down his paddle and started chasing me from behind.

“You’re gonna feel it! You’re gonna feel it!”

I was running away, laughing. Rudnick grabbed me from behind and started yanking on my underwear.

“You’re gonna feel it! You’re gonna feel it!”

I was lying facedown on the couch and Rudnick was on top of me, grunting and sweating. I wasn’t laughing anymore. I was trying to get away, but he was too strong for me.

“Please stop,” I begged him. “Please stop.”

I tried to break away, using my arm for leverage, when I realized I wasn’t in the basement anymore, I was in the car, yanking on the steering wheel. The car had swerved off the shoulder, onto a grassy area, and there was a tree straight ahead. I braked and turned the steering wheel far to the left. Paula woke up screaming. The car missed the tree by a few yards as we skidded back onto the highway. Luckily, there wasn’t another car coming or we would have been in a serious accident.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” I said, feeling light-headed and slightly in shock. “Don’t worry—it’s okay, it’s okay.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I think a raccoon ran onto the road.”

“A raccoon?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

We drove on. Paula stayed wide awake and neither of us said a word.

5

MONDAY MORNING PAULA and I shared a cab downtown. I got out at Forty-eighth Street, kissing her goodbye quickly, and then she continued to Wall Street.

As always after spending an entire weekend together, it felt strange to be alone. I also felt guilty about the way I’d been treating Paula lately. Not only was she my wife, she was my best friend, maybe my only friend, and I realized how empty my life would be without her.

I used to have a lot of friends, but over the years most of them had gotten married or moved away and I hardly saw them anymore. At my jobs, I’d always had acquaintances, but no one I wanted to get together with outside the office. My two roommates from college still lived in the city—Joe on the West Side and Stu in the Village. But Joe was married now and he and his wife were high school teachers and I didn’t have a lot in common with them. Stu was a web designer and we always had a lot to talk about, but he was single and didn’t have a steady girlfriend to double-date with, so we rarely got together.

I didn’t have much family, either. My mother lived in Austin, Texas, with her second husband. She had become more and more religious over the years and we weren’t very close. My father lived in Southern California with his wife, but he was a selfish prick and I spoke to him as little as possible. I had a couple of aunts and uncles and cousins, but they lived outside New York and we didn’t keep in touch.

At my office, I decided to call my mother, just to say hi. I hadn’t spoken to her in a while, at least a month, and I thought it would be nice to talk to someone from my family.

“Richie, what a pleasant surprise,” my mother said, although I could tell she didn’t sound exactly excited to hear from me. Every time I spoke with my mother lately I became very agitated and annoyed, and I was already regretting that I’d called her.

“So how’s everything in New York?” my mother asked. “How’s Paula?”

“New York’s fine, Paula’s great.”

“Well, I’m very glad to hear that. So why are you calling?”