Unsuitable (14 page)

The band played background music while drinks were served and Carrie enjoyed the elegant atmosphere. Dancing began soon after that, and Jason led Carrie to the floor amid the throng of other guests.

Carrie had never danced with Jason; it was heaven to drift in his arms to the strains of soft music. He held her lightly but securely, and she was delighted to discover that he was an accomplished dancer, confident and graceful. He pulled her closer and swung her into a series of turns, whirling her until she was giggling and dizzy. Then he paused and enfolded her, barely moving, as she pressed her cheek to his starched shirtfront and closed her eyes.

They opened again a few seconds later when Jason halted suddenly. Carrie stepped back from him to see another man, dark and handsome in a saturnine way, tapping Jason on the shoulder. He was cutting in on them.

Carrie’s expression changed from surprise to alarm when she saw the look on Jason’s face. His mouth was hard, almost cruel, and his hazel eyes shot sparks. She knew instantly that this was no ordinary social encounter. She put her hand on Jason’s arm and he shook it off as if she were a bothersome insect.

“What are you doing here, Miller?” Jason demanded in a low, menacing tone that froze Carrie’s blood.

“Cutting in on your date,” the dark man replied, smiling charmingly at Carrie.

“I don’t think so,” Jason said curtly, taking Carrie’s elbow and turning her away. She was relieved that they had avoided an unpleasant confrontation, but only for a second. The dark man followed them, blocking Jason’s path.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I got in?” the man inquired of Jason, his tone needling.

“Through the sewer?” Jason suggested, still trying to steer Carrie out of range. “Or did you crash?”

“I’m escorting Beth Dandridge,” his antagonist informed him.

“I’ll send her my condolences,” Jason snapped. He tried to move again and Miller stepped in front of him.

Jason turned to Carrie. “I’ll be only a minute,” he said, obviously deciding to remove her from the fray. “Just wait for me at our table.”

Carrie complied, eager for him to put an end to the unpleasant encounter. But she had barely reached her seat when she saw the men squaring off, exchanging muttered barbs that she couldn’t hear. She gasped as Jason’s fist crashed into the man’s jaw. Miller toppled to the floor.

Mrs. Dunne screamed as Jason jumped on top of his opponent, raining blows on his upper body. The man put up a token resistance, landing a few punches, but it was clear that he was no match for Jason’s uncontrolled fury.

The others on the dance floor backed away, crying out in shock and dismay. The band stopped playing on an upbeat note, as if by agreement. Carrie was sickened by the fight. Was this the Jason who could prepare a dinner tray lovingly for his son and groom a horse as if he were polishing Cartier silver? She didn’t recognize him. He had been transformed into an ugly, violent stranger. She turned away, unable to watch.

Two of the other men tried to separate the combatants as she slipped to the edge of the crowd. She looked back once to see Jason being pulled off Miller by force. He was struggling with those aiming to break up the fight, trying to fling himself on the dark man again. At the point of tears, Carrie ran from the ballroom and out the front door. Leaving her wrap behind she flagged down a taxi and gave the cabbie her address.

She had been home no more than twenty minutes when Jason began banging on her door.

“Carrie, let me in.”

“Go away,” she called out to him, wiping her wet eyes and tightening the sash on her robe.

“Carrie, I have to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say,” she yelled at the door.

“I have your wrap here,” he said, trying a new tactic.

“Leave it on the porch.”

“Aren’t you even going to let me explain what happened?” he burst out, frustrated, pounding again.

Carrie walked farther into the hall so that she wouldn’t have to shout. “I
saw
what happened. You
attacked
that man. There is nothing to explain. Good night.”

There was a short silence followed by, “Carrie, you’re not being fair.”

“Why should I be fair? Were you being fair to me when you engaged in a brawl in front of a crowd of people? The children in my class behave with more maturity.”

No answer came for a full minute. Then the pounding resumed.

“Carrie, if you don’t open this door I’m going to kick it in!”

Carrie felt an angry flush crawling up her neck. “Do that,” she replied furiously, “and I’ll call the police. I’m surprised you’re not enjoying their hospitality already, after the scene I witnessed. I don’t respond to brutality any better than those people at the club.”

Jason did not reply to this ultimatum. To drive home her point Carrie checked the bolt on the front door noisily and shut off the porch light. After several minutes of silence she was convinced that he had left.

Carrie went back into the living room, sitting down and clasping her shaking hands in her lap. How could she be so angry with someone she loved so much? While she knew she couldn’t let him bully his way inside after what he’d done, a part of her had wanted to fling the door wide and embrace him. She wanted to tell him it didn’t matter. But it did. She told herself that she was right but didn’t feel any better. She switched on the television and watched an awful movie until eleven o’clock. Then, emotionally exhausted, she went to bed and right to sleep.

In the morning she started worrying about Jason. Had he gotten home all right? He’d been very upset. Maybe she should have talked to him, not to condone his behavior but to listen to his side of the story. She dressed and made coffee in a state of anxiety, wondering if she should call him.

She was still preoccupied as she locked the door behind her and headed for her car. As she reached for the handle she let out a little yelp of surprise. Jason was asleep in the back seat, still in his formal clothes, his long legs folded up like collapsible garden furniture. He had wadded her shawl under his head for a pillow and was using his coat as a blanket. He must have decided to camp out in her car so she would be forced to confront him when she went to work. She glanced around for his car and saw it parked a little farther away. She sighed heavily, shaking her head, and opened the passenger door.

“Jason, wake up,” she said. “You have to get out of there. I want to go to work.”

He sat up, blinking, and then realized where he was. “Carrie, stay home today. We have to talk.”

His upper lip was swollen and crusted with blood at the corner. One eye was bruised and there was a purplish welt on his cheekbone. He must have come to her directly from the fray, with no stops for first aid.

“I can’t stay home,” she said briskly, depositing her briefcase on the seat. “Would you please stop these ridiculous antics and get out of my car?”

“Call in sick,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Jason, I cannot do that. I have to reach the substitute service by six-thirty
a.m.
when I’m going to be out sick so they can get coverage for my class.”

“What if you don’t discover you’re sick until six forty-five?” he asked logically.

Carrie ignored that. “It’s eight-twenty right now and I’m due in at nine. If you don’t get out I’m going to drive off with you in the car.”

“Tell them it’s an emergency,” he said, groaning as he uncoiled his stiff legs. “They’ll get somebody.”

“I’m not going to lie. Do you know what happens to twenty-four fourth graders when their teacher doesn’t show up? They’ll be taking over the Board of Education Offices by nine-fifteen.”

Jason looked so defeated that her heart went out to him. He had spent a very uncomfortable night in order to ensure that he would see her. The least she could do was talk to him.

“All right,” she relented. “I have an idea. I know a woman who works as a substitute. She needs the money and is always ready to go in for a day. I’ll call her directly and see if she can cover for me.”

“Thank you,” he said humbly, emerging from the small car in stages: head, torso, legs. He looked beat.

“If you were going to pull this unorthodox stunt,” Carrie said, “why didn’t you sleep in your own car? It’s bigger and more comfortable.”

“I was afraid that I’d miss you,” he answered simply, straightening with a grimace.

“Come on inside,” Carrie directed. “You can have some coffee while I make the call.”

He followed her as dutifully as one of her students, seemingly chastened by his recent experiences. Once seated in her kitchen he accepted the cup of coffee she gave him in grateful silence, listening as she arranged for the sub to take over for her. When she hung up the phone she said to him, “Would you like something to eat?”

He nodded. “Last meal I had was breakfast yesterday.”

“Yes, as I recall we missed dinner,” Carrie said sarcastically, but dropped it when she saw the look on his face. Something was really bothering him and it was more than her refusal to admit him the previous night.

She scrambled eggs and made toast as he watched, his arms folded on the tabletop. She put the food on a plate and handed it to him. He ate methodically, and when he finished he looked up and lit a cigarette.

“Thanks,” he said shortly. “I feel better.”

“Let me put some antiseptic on those cuts,” Carrie said, going to the cabinet for a bottle of alcohol.

“Carrie, any microbes attacking me have had enough time for a fiesta already,” he said wearily.

“Humor me,” she replied, swabbing his wounds with disinfectant. “You are a sight,” she concluded, capping the bottle and putting it down.

“You should see the other guy,” he responded with a weak smile.

“I’m glad I didn’t,” Carrie said. “Would you like to take a shower?”

He exhaled a stream of smoke and put his cigarette out quickly. “I sure would. I feel like last week’s laundry.”

Carrie took him upstairs and showed him where everything was, then went back to the kitchen. She had a second cup of coffee, wondering what the morning would bring. She listened to the rush of water in the old pipes and waited for him to return.

He came back down the stairs briskly, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead. Still dressed in his tuxedo pants and the pleated shirt, he had rolled up the sleeves of the latter and left the top buttons undone. The golden skin of his neck and chest showed at the vee, along with a clutch of brown hairs. Even his cuts looked better, almost invisible.

Jason sat across from her and lit another cigarette. He dragged on it deeply and then said, “Why wouldn’t you let me in last night?”

“You were in a rage, Jason. I didn’t know what would happen.”

“You thought I would hurt you?” he asked in an incredulous tone that made her regret her words. She looked away. When she looked back at him she saw that his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“I’ll go,” he mumbled, pushing back the chair and standing up defeatedly. Carrie was at his side in an instant.

“I didn’t think you would hurt me, Jason,” she said. “I was just upset at the way you behaved. Please stay. I want to hear what you have to say.”

He brushed the back of his arm across his eyes. “I’m sorry I caused such a commotion last night, at the party and back here too,” he said heavily. “I wouldn’t have broken the door down. I was just desperate, Carrie. I thought I had lost you.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” she prodded gently.

“You may be sorry that I told you after you hear it,” he answered dully.

“Go on.”

He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, opening them again and looking directly at her.

“The man I fought last night was Louise’s lover. One of many but the last as far as I know. He was with her the day she died.”

Chapter 8

Carrie sat motionless with surprise, unable to frame a reply. She watched as he took another cigarette from the packet and lit it from the end of the last one, not meeting her eyes.

“At the time Louise died,” he finally went on, “I was about to sue her for divorce on the grounds of adultery.”

“I thought you loved her,” Carrie whispered.

“I did, in the beginning.” He inhaled until the tip of the cigarette glowed, then exhaled through barely parted lips. “But she flung my feelings back in my face. She was promiscuous throughout our marriage. I knew she was beautiful when we met, but I didn’t know that she needed constant reassurance of that fact from almost every man she came across. It became clear very soon that our ideas of married life were quite different.”

He stopped, looked into Carrie’s eyes and then away. “I can see that my little story isn’t exactly what you were anticipating,” he said bitterly. “Should I go on?”

Carrie straightened her shoulders and assumed a carefully blank expression. “Please.”

Jason got up and began to pace the narrow kitchen like a panther in an exhibition cage. His agitation was painful to watch; Carrie could only imagine what it was costing him to tell her these intimate, heartbreaking details.

“Louise conceived Johnny quickly, hated pregnancy, and informed me that there would be no more children. After he was born I tried to get her to seek help, then tried to ignore her activities for his sake. But it proved impossible. I no longer shared her bed but many others did. Oh, she was discreet, I’ll give her that. She would go to New York so as not to embarrass me locally. But she was a good mother to Johnny and she always held that over my head. Think what it would do to him if we divorced, think how he would miss his mother. But finally even that began to wear thin. We had separate rooms, separate lives, and I wanted it over for good. I felt I deserved some kind of life too, and as long as I was married I wasn’t going to sneak around with women on the side.”