The Education of Sebastian (20 page)

I didn’t reply. There was no point. Unfortunately, it meant the evening would now start on an awkward note. I hoped he’d be able to hide his annoyance from the Vorstadts: I didn’t want Donna throwing any more pitying glances my way.

Johan’s car arrived outside with typical military precision. David was wearing a dark blue suit with matching tie. If it hadn’t been for his permanently sour expression, he would have been good-looking.

Johan stepped out of the car to open the door and blinked when he saw me.

“Good evening, Caroline, David.”

“Hello, Johan. Hi Donna.”

“Caroline, darling. Don’t you look gorgeous,” gushed Donna. “Johan, doesn’t she look amazing?!”

“I’ll say!” agreed Johan enthusiastically.

I saw David frown. It was going to be a long evening.

David sat up front with Johan while Donna and I chatted in the back. I freely grilled her about her experiences of moving around the country, explaining it was for a new article.

“I can introduce you to some of the other wives,” she said. “Well, you know Shirley Peters: she’s moved around even more than I have.”

“I’ve spoken to her on the phone, but never actually met her,” I admitted.

“I’ll set something up,” she said. “Shirley is a member of the country club, too. Why don’t we all meet over there tomorrow afternoon? I’ll drive.”

Oh no! Not tomorrow – I’d promised Sebastian.

“Could we make it Friday? I’ve got one or two things on tomorrow.”

“Why sure! I’ll phone Shirley and set it up.”

I found myself looking forward to it and I was curious to meet Mitch’s wife. The fact that David would be torn between his disapproval of Shirley and his desire to encourage my friendship with Donna only added to my pleasure.
But how the hell was I going to get through the next three-and-a-half months with this man?

First we had to get through dinner.

Johan gallantly offered me his arm as we walked up the front steps, much to Donna’s obvious amusement and David’s sullen irritation.

The maitre d’ fussed around our table, pulling out chairs for Donna and me before introducing our waiter for the evening: a familiar face was grinning down at us.

“Oh, hello, Ches,” said Donna, pleasantly. “What a nice surprise! So you’ll be our waiter. How are you?”

“Very well thanks, Mrs. Vorstadt.” Then he turned to Johan. “Hello, sir. Hi, Caroline!” he grinned at me.

I smiled back. “Hi, Ches, how are…”

But before I could finish the sentence David snapped, “Her name is ‘Mrs. Wilson’.”

Ches’s smile vanished while Donna and Johan looked embarrassed.

“David,” I said softly. “I’ve met Ches before: he and his father were kind enough to help me with my surfing article.”

“I know who he is, Caroline,” said David sharply, “and it’s not appropriate that he addresses you by your first name.”

Donna hid a look of disgust behind her menu and I saw a hard look pass over Johan’s face. David had screwed himself royally this time. I didn’t care about that, but I was mortified by the way he’d treated Ches.

“Perhaps you can tell us what the specials are, Ches?” said Donna coolly.

“Sure, Mrs. Vorstadt,” said Ches, with a chastened tone.

We placed our orders and I tried to think of some way to apologize for David’s appalling rudeness.

“By the way, Ches,” I said, “the surfing article will be published in City Beat tomorrow. Yours and your dad’s picture are in it. I’ll buy a copy for each of you. Will you tell your dad for me? And Sebastian and Fido. I never did find out his real name.”

He grinned at me. “Okay, thanks, Mrs. Wilson, I’ll do that.”

He walked away smiling but David pursed his lips. “Don’t be over-familiar with the waiting staff, Caroline.”

“He’s our neighbor,” said Donna, raising her eyebrows to make the point.

“Of course,” said David after half a beat.

Johan cleared this throat and threw a warning look at his wife.

It was a wonder we didn’t all have indigestion before we started. But then our wine waiter arrived and the talk devolved into a discussion of how well New World reds stacked up against Old World. I kept my mouth firmly shut: now was not the time to irritate David even further.

Johan picked a soft Californian Merlot and ordered a jug of iced water.

Our entrées were very slow arriving and Johan’s eyes began flicking back and forwards towards the kitchen. The maitre d’ came out to apologize, saying that two members of staff had suddenly gone sick and that they were short-staffed but trying to remedy the situation.

That’s when I saw Sebastian.

He wasn’t in his usual sports assistant uniform; instead he was dressed in long, black pants, a white button down shirt with a black bow tie. He was walking purposefully towards our table, carrying a basket full of small bread rolls.

No! No! Shit!

I then had to endure the hideous spectacle of my lover serving my husband, while I tried to stop myself from screaming and running.

Donna smiled as I studied my linen napkin.

“Hello, Sebastian. We’ve already seen Ches this evening. It looks like you boys are running the place tonight.”

I didn’t dare look up to see his face but I could tell from his voice that he was nervous as he tried to laugh.

“Not really. They’re just very short-staffed: I haven’t done this before.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, dear. You look very handsome, doesn’t he, Caroline?”

My head jerked up at the sound of my name.

“Oh, yes. Very.”

There was a pause that felt long enough for the world to end.

“Would you like some bread?” Sebastian said awkwardly.

I shook my head while David reached across me to take two rolls. Donna also declined but Johan looked hungry enough to eat all the rolls and the basket, too. Luckily Ches was close behind bringing out our entrées. I had no idea how I was going to eat anything, my stomach was so tied in knots. And I still couldn’t look at Sebastian.

The men dug into their food with gusto. I glanced up to see Donna give me a small wink; I had no idea what she was referring to but I tried to smile back; I probably just looked sick. From the corner of my eye I could see Sebastian waiting on other tables and Ches hurrying to and fro.

“I wonder if those boys will both enlist,” said Donna, musing aloud, “you know – following in their fathers’ footsteps.”

“The Hunter boy is going to,” said David confidently. “I don’t know about the other one.”

“Really?” said Donna. “I’m quite surprised: I rather thought Sebastian might do something else.”

“No,” said David with finality, “Donald told me himself. Estelle has talked him into letting the boy have a year at college first,” he sniffed disdainfully, “but that’s all he’s prepared to pay for; the boy will enlist after that.”

“That seems a little harsh,” said Donna frowning. “Surely they’d let him get his degree once he’s started?”

David shrugged. He really wasn’t that interested.

I was shocked yet again by Donald and Estelle’s callousness; I knew for a fact that Sebastian was unaware of this plan. I was even more determined that he’d get his degree if I had anything to do with it.

The conversation moved onto other people we knew in common and for me at least, into safer territory.

“Where did you get your fabulous dress, Caroline?” Donna asked while Ches cleared away the entrée plates.

“Westfield: I went this morning.”

“Oh! I wish I’d known. I was there this morning, too. We could have gone together. What a pity I didn’t see you.”

I shuddered internally at the thought of what had so narrowly been avoided.

“I don’t know why she had to pick black,” David complained. “It’s so funereal.”

Donna stared at him in astonishment then turned her sympathetic eyes to mine. I glanced away and caught Sebastian watching me. He looked angry: he’d obviously heard David’s unkind comment.

“Do you have any plans while David is away?” said Donna.

“Excuse me?”

“While he’s at the conference… you know, the thoracic surgery symposium in Dallas?”

I stared at her in bafflement.

“For God’s sake, Caroline!” muttered David. “What is the point of me filling in a schedule if you never look at it?”

“When are you going?”

“They’re flying out on Friday evening and back Sunday night,” Donna added helpfully.

Johan nodded to David. “Have you read the papers yet?”

I barely listened as they discussed the speakers: my mind was racing through the possible ways I could spend my 48 hours of freedom.

“What will you do with yourself, Caroline?” asked Donna.

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’ll be able to get on with my writing.”

“And you’ll come to the beach barbeque on Sunday?”

She immediately answered my blank expression.

“It’s for all the Service families. It’s usually pretty good fun and, as you’re by yourself… Oh, do say yes.”

With everyone staring at me, I had no choice.

“Yes, of course I’ll come,” I said.

I felt like some weird internal elevator was rushing up and down with its cargo of emotions: from elation at the thought of David being away for two nights, to come crashing down because precious hours when I could have been with Sebastian would now be squandered at a military picnic. Someone sure had a lousy sense of humor.

I deliberately took my time getting ready for bed once we got back from the country club. I hoped that if I was slow enough David would have fallen asleep by the time I slipped under the covers. So far I had managed to avoid any further confrontations about sex, but I knew it was only a matter of time before David would insist on his conjugal ‘rights’.

I closed the toilet lid and sat down with my head in my hands. I couldn’t go on like this: the stress was beginning to get to me and it had only been three weeks.
Was that all it had taken for my life to change so completely?
I wasn’t cut out for infidelity. Or maybe it was simply that Donna’s comment about having been at the mall at the same time as us that had made my anxiety levels spike.

The choices were stark: leave David and set divorce proceedings in action – stay away from Sebastian for another 13 weeks and hope no one put two-and-two together to make four; stay, and save money from my writing so we could disappear to NYC together at the end of September – and hope no one put two-and-two together to make four. Either way people would work out the truth when we both disappeared at the same time – I hoped that once Sebastian was 18 and there was no
proof
of wrong doing, they’d leave us alone. That was my grand plan. And money was going to be an issue. David had his salary paid into a savings account and gave me $1,000 a month for groceries, gas for my car and utility bills. It was only just enough. I had no money of my own. When I’d had my job back East, David had insisted that my wages went into the communal pot. That’s what he called it, although I never saw the money again. I didn’t even know how much was in our savings account. What a humiliating admission.

But if I could get an article published in City Beat every week for the next three months, I’d have over $4,000 – enough for seven or eight weeks rent in NYC. It was going to be tight, but when it came down to it, what price freedom?

Although the fact that the age of consent was 17 in New York was reassuring, I tried not to dwell on it. It didn’t change the facts of what I’d done in California, and what I planned to continue doing.

The rumbling sound of David’s snores broke through my grim thoughts: it was safe to go to bed.

I slipped carefully under the sheets and tried to think positively. Tomorrow was a new day: my first ever piece of professional writing was going to be published – and I had a promise to keep to Sebastian.

Chapter 9

I collected Sebastian from our special place near the park and drove off quickly. He was unusually subdued.

“Are you okay?”

He shrugged.

I really hoped he wasn’t going to sulk for long: I’d had enough of that in my life, and in particular from David during the last 24 hours.

“Sebastian, talk to me!”

He sighed. “I
hated
seeing you with that asshole last night. How can you stand it?”

I blanched at the anger in his voice.

“I’ve got used to it, over the years,” I said quietly. “But it’s getting harder.”

I could feel Sebastian’s eyes on me as I drove.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

It was my turn to shrug. He didn’t need to apologize: if it was anyone’s fault, it was mine. I looked for a way to change the subject and diffuse the tense atmosphere.

“I need to buy a half-dozen copies of City Beat. My article is published today: you and Ches will be in it.”

“Oh, yeah! I can’t wait to see that!” he said, sounding happier.

I pulled up at a convenience store and we both jumped out, racing each other to the stand of newspapers, suddenly light-hearted.

I tore open a copy of the paper, my heart beating rapidly with excitement. I didn’t have to look far: my article was printed on page five with a huge photograph of Sebastian, Mitch, Bill, Ches and Fido.

I felt a sharp pain in my chest as I stared at the photograph of Sebastian. In the picture his sun-lightened hair was still long, and he looked the epitome of young and carefree. I’d taken it just a few hours before his father brutally hacked off his hair; and a few hours after that we had slept together for the first time. But I also felt a great welling up of pride: seeing my article in print with my name beneath it was the first real sense of achievement I’d had since getting my degree at night school three years ago.

“They’ve spelled your name wrong,” said Sebastian frowning.

I scanned the page quickly. “Where?”

“There,” he said, pointing at the small, bold type under the heading.

“No, that’s correct,” I said, looking at him puzzled.

“Your name is ‘Carolina’, not ‘Caroline’?”

“Carolina is the Italian,” I said softly, emphasizing the long vowel in the middle. “David – and my mother – preferred the Anglicized version, but the name on my birth certificate is Carolina Maria.”