Switcheroo (35 page)

“She’ll want to know, Rose.”

“Go ahead, then. But she won’t talk to him. And if she does, she’s a wimp.”

Mildred finally spoke up. “Who is it?” she asked, but Sylvie knew.

“It’s Bob,” Phil volunteered, his voice falsely casual.

“Hang up on the son of a bitch,” Jim snapped.

Mildred raised her brows and looked at Jim, who paused for a moment, glanced at his daughter and grandchildren, then hung his head and shut up. Mildred calmly looked over at Sylvie and her look said, “Watch it.” Meanwhile, Kenny and Reenie hadn’t taken their eyes off her. Sylvie wondered what lesson her actions right now would teach them. What should she do?

Mildred stood up and took her arm, leading her into the hallway. “Sylvie, just because your father is angry with Bob is no reason for
you
not to forgive him. You’ve more than made your point, I think. Now the question is: do you still love him?” Mildred asked.

“I’ve always loved him,” Sylvie admitted. “I was ignored by him, but I loved him. I was angry with him, but I loved him. I was betrayed by him, but I loved him.” She looked at Mildred calmly. “
That
was never the question. The question was: did he love me? I don’t want him back to be his mother, to feed him, to do his laundry, or keep his goddamn cuff links organized. I only want him back because he loves me. Big time.”

“Hey, I got a guy on hold here,” Phil yelled.

Mildred shrugged. “He’ll keep holding,” she yelled back to Phil. She turned again to her daughter. “Remember, Sylvie, men aren’t the same as we are. They’re not exactly human. They’re…well, let’s say humanoid.”

“That’s not true, Mother,” Sylvie said. She walked out of the hallway and stopped to kiss Kenny on the top of his head.

“Sylvie?” Phil asked, motioning to the phone.

“Your call, Sylvie,” Mildred told her daughter. “Do you want me to take it?”

“I’m okay,” Sylvie reassured her mother. “I’ll take it in the music room,” Sylvie told Phil.

Bob was sitting at the wheel of Beautiful Baby. He was holding the mobile phone to his ear and, because of the dropping temperature, he had clouds of smoke coming out of his nose. He’d wet the receiver with his breath and he was shivering. He’d been sitting in the cold for a long, long time. But he could afford to hold on for as long as it took. It had given him time to think.

He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been. What an ass he was. He’d already tried to work up some anger over Sylvie’s trick or, if not anger, at least a little righteous indignation. But it wasn’t going to work. He guessed he should be proud of that. Maybe he wasn’t such a complete, irredeemable asshole if he could acknowledge that he was a complete, irredeemable asshole. He’d been caught lying and he couldn’t condemn Sylvie for outlying him. He began to replay the events of the last few weeks and the blushes actually sent a wash of warmth over his icy face and neck.

He shook his head and wiped off the receiver again. How could he not have noticed that Marla and Sylvie were doubles? How could he not have noticed the switch? And how could he have been so stupid and so blind as to risk his marriage and his family for a quick fling with youth? The fact was, he was forty-four years old. No younger woman would change that—except in his own pathetic mind. He was no longer young, he was middle-aged. After this he would be old. Then he would be dead. That was the way it worked. Contrary to popular opinion, denial did not stop the aging process.

He shivered in the dark interior of the convertible. The cloth roof gave no protection against the night chill. Why had he so carefully restored this car, and why did he insist on driving it? It was all part of the same syndrome: the look-I’m-still-young-and-potent disease. He’d seen it hit Phil and wreck his life.

Bob sat in the ridiculous, tiny, freezing-cold car and thought about how much he loved Sylvie and how he had forgotten to appreciate their life together. Sylvie hadn’t grown middle-aged, he had. She was still spontaneous, still loved her music, was still ready to travel and do vibrant, crazy things. Even the switch she’d pulled on him showed how creative, how talented she was. Alone, in the darkness, on hold, Bob blushed again. He thought of the secrets he’d kept from her that she now knew. He thought of making love to her at Marla’s, how exciting and how moving it had been, and how stupid he was to not know her then. Didn’t the Bible use that expression—Abraham “knew” Sarah—when it spoke of sex? He hadn’t known her. And he’d probably ruined his life irrevocably. He looked down at the telephone receiver and, unworthy as he was, said a prayer.

Sylvie walked into the music room and closed the door behind her. She was in no rush. After all, what could she possibly say? And what could Bob say that would make everything all right? She flipped on the exterior lights but left the room dark. Outside, the view through the French doors was magical. Frost had whitened the lawn, glowing now in contrast with the ink-dark evergreens. Sylvie sat down at the piano, as she always did in times of joy or misery. She began playing a nocturne. After a few moments Sylvie took a deep breath and then lifted up the telephone.

“What exactly is it you want?” Sylvie asked.

“Sylvie?” Bob’s voice sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t expected her to be there. Well, why should she?

“Yes. It’s me,” she said and, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, returned to playing the song, more and more slowly and with heavier chords. “What do you want?” she repeated.

“I want you,” Bob said. “I know that’s an outrageous thing to say, and probably impossible, but you asked and I told you.” Bob’s voice sounded thick to her, as if he had been crying. Well, she’d cried plenty, Sylvie thought. “Sylvie, now that I’m losing everything, things are very clear,” Bob’s voice said.

“I guess they always are at the end,” Sylvie told him.

“I didn’t love her, Sylvie. I didn’t even know her.”

“Except in the carnal sense,” Sylvie reminded him. Her fingers stumbled over the keys. The phone was hurting the crook of her neck.

“I know now that what I loved was my past, the time that I had with you, when we were young and it was fun,” Bob said. “I wanted that, not her.” He paused. “Sylvie, I didn’t even notice the resemblance. Not consciously. I know it’s unbelievable. But I think it was—”

Sylvie heard the two beeps of call waiting. “Could you hold for a minute?” Sylvie asked and pressed the flash button without waiting for Bob’s answer.

“Sylvie? It’s Marla. I mean, Susan.”

“What do
you
want?” Sylvie asked.

“I just wanted to thank you. And to let you be the first to know: John and I are engaged.”

“
Engaged
? What about Nora?”

“Who’s Nora?”

“Never mind.” Everyone was insane, Sylvie figured, herself included. “Best wishes,” Sylvie managed. John was going to marry that girl? He was welcome to her. Maybe her mother was right—men were only humanoids. “Congratulations to him,” Sylvie continued.

“You’re the only person in the world who’s ever kept her promise to me,” Marla—or Susan—said.

“Well, let’s hope it’s the start of a trend,” Sylvie told her. “I gotta go.” She punched back to Bob.

“Sylvie? Are you there?” he asked.

“Yes.” This was all she would say; she’d let him do the talking.

“Sylvie, you have to hear this,” Bob continued. “I’ve always loved you. I admit that I forgot it for a little while, but it’s true. We should have played together more often. Music, and other things. We once made a good team, didn’t we?”

She nodded, though she wouldn’t acknowledge it with her voice. They were both silent for a few moments.

“You gave. I can give too. I could sacrifice anything for you, Sylvie.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Sylvie told him, allowing just one tear to roll down her cheek. She’d already cried enough over this, but it seemed as if the one tear had all of her pain and bitterness distilled within it. It tickled her cheek, but she wouldn’t wipe it away. “You really hurt me,” she whispered. “It wasn’t a nice thing to do.”

“I know. You’re right. You did better than I did,” Bob acknowledged. “Forgive me.”

He was incredible. All men were. Couldn’t he understand? “Look,” Sylvie said. “You’ve destroyed my trusting you.”

“But I…”

Sylvie wouldn’t let him say a word. Not until she got this out. Because even if he couldn’t get it he had to hear her aching. “You made love to your mistress. You cheated on me and I was there. I was
her
. Remember your hands on the back of my neck, and the way you held down my shoulder? That was
me
you were holding, me you were kissing.” A tiny pain noise escaped her, but she wouldn’t cry.

“Sylvie, I didn’t know, I…”

“Bob, there’s so much you didn’t know. You didn’t know Marla was my double. You didn’t know she was a real person, and how you were hurting her, cheating her. You didn’t know you still loved me. You didn’t know how I wanted you. You also didn’t know I could make love like that. It was perfect. The two of us were perfect. Except you didn’t even know it was the two of us. You’ve underestimated me for a long time. I’m not some suburban laundry expert, some genius with the Electrolux. I wasn’t just the mother of your children and the keeper of your house.” Another gasp of pain came out of her, but she managed to continue. “I’m an imaginative, adventurous, passionate woman, and you took me for granted. You…you…oh Bob, you’re a fool.”

“I have no excuse,” he said. “I’m a jerk. But…I made other mistakes that hurt me. And I didn’t know that either. I gave up my music,” he said. “I think I started to resent you. I started to blame you, the kids, Jim. But it was me, Sylvie. I chose as I did. I was safe in my rut. Resentful, but safe.” Sylvie heard him choke up. She wondered where he was calling from but wouldn’t ask. “I’ve never been as open, as true to myself as you,” Bob continued. “I didn’t know my limits and I didn’t know my strengths.” There was a long silence. “Sylvie? When will you let me try to make it up to you?”

Sylvie stood up, stepping away from the piano bench, turning her back to the rest of the room. What could she say? She stared out the window into the empty backyard. Bob was a desperate man right now. Wouldn’t he probably say anything? How long would
that
last? “I don’t know. Maybe when you’ve learned that vaginas are connected to hearts. Unlike dicks.” She paused. “I may never be able to trust you again,” she admitted.

And yet her heart yearned for him, for the man who had held her and loved her so tenderly—in another woman’s bed. But Sylvie wasn’t going to make it easy for Bob. She wasn’t going to be weak. He’d promise much now, but what would he really give up for her? How could he make this up to her? Would he ever change from the compulsive, closed man he had become with her? Sylvie didn’t want to go on alone. She didn’t want to break up their family, but she wasn’t willing to go on in the way she had been. “Good-bye, Bob,” she said and hung up.

Sylvie stood in the darkness of her music room with the dead receiver in her hand. Was her marriage over? If it was, she would be alone without someone to love for the rest of her life. She wouldn’t go through this again. Would she give up her history and her marriage? Did she have a choice? What Bob had done was agonizing and humiliating to her. But Sylvie had heard what he said and knew, perhaps from her own wisdom, perhaps from her mother’s, that she shouldn’t take his indiscretion personally. Not because she was a wimp, nor because she was too “nice” to keep him on the hook, not because it was more convenient to forgive him. Not even because she wanted those moments of passion again—though she did. She realized she could forgive Bob because he, like many men, often had very little idea of what he was doing until it was actually done. She believed he hadn’t meant to hurt her, and that picking someone who looked so similar to her had, more than anything, been a way of recapturing their past. Okay, it was stupid, ridiculous way and it hadn’t worked. It almost ruined both of their lives, and maybe had perhaps scarred the lives of their children, but he hadn’t meant for it to happen.

Bob was not really a conniver or a manipulator. If anything, he was an emotional dunce and, she decided, she could forgive him for that. Almost any woman was smarter about her feelings than the very smartest man was about his, but since she preferred living and sleeping with a man she would have to accept men’s limitations. He had hurt her, he’d been foolhardy, but he certainly wasn’t going to do it again. Maybe she could forgive him. She wouldn’t take it personally; she’d take it as a group.

Just then, a bouncing light against the wall caught Sylvie’s attention. Was it a flashlight? What was…She turned around, expecting to see Rosalie outside the French doors. But it couldn’t be her. She was in the dining room. Sylvie flipped off the outside lights in the hope of getting a better idea of where the spots were coming from.

“Oh my god!” she cried. Headlights were coming at her. The hall door flew open. Everyone ran in from the dining room.

“I can’t believe it!” Reenie said.

Sylvie and the rest of the family went to the French doors.

“Oh lord!” Mildred exclaimed.

“Go, Dad!” Kenny cheered.

“The car! The car!” Jim shouted in horror.

Sylvie stood completely still, a radiant joy filling her. She held her breath. Would he do it? Would he go all the way for her?

Mildred flipped on the pool lights. “There is a God,” Mildred said, “and She is good.”

Sylvie watched as Beautiful Baby approached the brink and, without slowing down, without even a moment of hesitation, was driven over the edge and into the pool. The twins screamed. Jim groaned. The family began as one to move outdoors, but Mildred wisely restrained them.

“Let your mother go alone,” she told the twins.

Sylvie stepped outside and began to run across the patio, then through the yard, toward the pool. Bob emerged, climbing the ladder just as Sylvie got to it. He was already shivering with the cold. “I’d do anything for you,” he gasped, and Sylvie stood there for a moment, hesitating on the brink. “Please, Sylvie,” Bob begged. “Forgive me. Let me try again. Let’s play duets again.”