What is Love? (3 page)

The women raised
their glasses, clinking them together as they affirmed in unison, “To Ellen and
Jonathan.”

Patty motioned
toward Jonathan as he approached. “Here comes the man of honor.”

“Congratulations.” A
chorus of approval clattered around him.

Ellen watched in
admiration at the attention he commanded. And why not? A sixty-year-old cross
between an aging Cary Grant and Clark Gable, he certainly had charm. He smiled
a sheepish grin as Ellen rested her hand on his arm, the scent of scotch mixed
with sandalwood greeting her as she leaned closer.

“Darling, you
haven’t had too much, have you?” she whispered.

He patted her hand.
“Not to worry, I can handle it.” His words sounded soft and rolling.

“Come, let’s get
some air.” She smiled as they excused themselves from the ladies. Ellen held
his arm as they walked through the Egyptian antiquities toward the Temple of
Dendur, away from the congested main hall. “You know how I hate it when you
drink. You seldom drink anymore …
why
tonight of all nights?”

“Well, darling, so I
can live up to your grand expectations, of course,” he said, waving his hand
before bowing.

“I can’t let you
spoil tonight,” Ellen said, straightening his tie.

“Nooo! That wouldn’t
look good, now would it? All these old vultures would really have something to
feast on, wouldn’t they?”

“You need some food.
Come on.” Ellen pulled his arm toward the corridor leading back toward the
Great Hall.

“No, you go. I’ll
wait right here. I can’t listen to any more of this love crap.” He smiled and
tugged on his lapels, bracing himself against the textured stone wall.

Ellen headed back to
the Hall in search of food. Her thoughts raced as she imagined him stumbling
around, a foolish drunk, saying absurd things to everyone, and the laughter and
gossip that would spread out of control. This was supposed to be a night to
impress everyone, and she was not about to let him ruin it. She filled his
plate with lobster canapés and truffle croquettes. More women and praise
surrounded her, except this time almost everyone wondered where Jonathan was.
Her blood pressure spiked as she made her way back with the plate of food.

When she arrived, he
was standing where she left him, only now with another drink in his hand. She
pulled the glass out of his hand and shoved the plate toward him. “Here, you
need this.”

“You always think
you know what I need, don’t you?” Jonathan said, resisting the plate in front
of him.

Ellen set his drink
beside them and pushed the plate into his hand. “Well, that’s my job, isn’t
it?”

“I thought it was to
torture me.”

“Jonathan!” Ellen
crossed her arms. “Stop that.”

“Stop what, Ellen?”

“You’re behaving
like a drunk. Smarten up!” She reached for his tie.

He pulled back. “I’m
not drunk, darling. I’m just happy. Isn’t that what you want? Aren’t I supposed
to look happy?”

“Yes, of course, but
you’ve already had too much. I don’t want you to embarrass me, not tonight.”

“Ah, yes. Not here,
not in front of all these fine people you care so damn much about.” He slammed
his plate down, spilling lobster and truffles onto the gold organza tablecloth
beside them.

“You care, too. You
care what they think.”

“You’re dead wrong.
I don’t give a shit what they think. They are all fucking social leeches.”

“Jonathan! Stop
being so vulgar!” Her heart froze as she surveyed the room for anyone who might
be paying attention. “Why are you acting like this? Why tonight?”

“Since you’re
asking, it’s because this night means more to you than I do. It means more to
you than our marriage.”

“This night
is
about
our marriage, Jonathan. It’s about you.”

“No, Ellen. It’s
about you. I don’t care that it’s about you, but this crap of how happy we are,
well, it’s bullshit and you know it.” His voice boomed, amplifying the words.

“What?” Her eyes
burned with the threat of tears. “How can you possibly say something like
that?”

“Because it’s the
truth.” He looked directly at her while his words sliced deep into her heart.
“I don’t love you anymore, Ellen. I haven’t for years. I’m sorry, but this
shouldn’t be a surprise. God knows I’ve tried to make this work, tried to
pretend, but I just can’t do it anymore.” He picked up his drink and took a
long sip.

“Jonathan!” Ellen
blinked several times to stop the tears. “Stop this right now. I’m sorry about
whatever it is that’s upset you, but please, please behave.” She closed her
eyes, as if somehow, by doing so, she could stop his foolishness.

This couldn’t be
happening. Not now. Not tonight. What was he saying?
Her mind clouded over,
blocking any bits of reason. She opened her eyes and saw his empty expression.

“It’s not anything
you did, Ellen. It’s not anything you didn’t do. I simply feel nothing anymore.
Nothing at all. I can’t go on lying.” He shook his head and pulled on his
cuffs. “I love her, you know I do. I want to be with her. In fact, I want to
marry her.”

“No!” Ellen’s knees
went weak. “You don’t mean it. You can’t.” She struggled to regain composure.
“You’re drunk.”
He has to be
, she told herself. Only a drunk could be
this cruel.

“I’m not drunk. I’ve
never been more sober in my life. I feel great. In fact, I feel free …
more
than I ever imagined.” He set his
drink down. “I’m sorry. But, this is just too much, all this ridiculous
prancing around, spreading lies to everyone—”

“Stop it!” She
covered her eyes. A violence unleashed within. She wanted to hit him and
inflict pain. She wanted to scream and rage and tear him into pieces. Make him
suffer. But not here. Years of grooming and restraint had trained her to ignore
what feelings churned inside. She took a breath. “Stop this right now.”

“We aren’t happy and
united. I don’t see why you think we are. I am not committed and all that other
bullshit you and everyone here keep prattling on about. It’s wrong to pretend.
I see that now. I will not be part of any more lies.”

“Oh, God help me. I
feel sick.” Ellen braced herself against the table as her knees started to
buckle. Trying to steady herself, she leaned against the wall and took a few
deep breaths. Her head pounded. “Tell me you don’t mean this. Of course you
don’t. Tomorrow you will forget all of this.”

“No, Ellen.” His
voice was cold. “Tomorrow I will be gone.”

“No!” she cried.
“This is wrong. This is wrong …
you
can’t do this …
not now …
not here.”

“I can, and I will.”
He turned to walk away.

“Jonathan—please,
don’t do this. Think of how it will look.” She tried to pull him closer.

“How it will look!”
He pulled away from her grasp. “Damn it, Ellen. That really is all that matters
to you, isn’t it?”

“But Jonathan …
I
 …
I
love you, you know I do …
”
She
covered her racing heart with her hands. “Why are you doing this? Why?”

“Because God damn
it, I don’t love you. You are living a lie and you know it. It’s over. I want a
divorce!” He turned and walked away.

Ellen’s strength
collapsed. Her brain was numb. She covered her face with her hands, hoping to
block all this away, hoping to erase it all.
How could this be happening?
Why tonight? Why now?

She started to run
after him, to plead with him, to beg him to stay, then stopped when she saw
Greta. No. Not in front of everyone.
He’s drunk. He has to be.
She tried
to convince herself as she turned away from the corridor.
He will regret
this tomorrow.
But that doesn’t change tonight. That won’t undo all the
damage he’s doing on her big night.
Why tonight? Why now?

As she tried to make
sense of everything, tears broke through her fortress of composure. She was
alone …
alone and old. A
divorce! She desperately wanted to leave, to run away. But this was
her
big event—she couldn’t run.
What would the people at their table say? What
would everyone say?
She wanted to die. She tried to find her purse on the
table through the haze of tears.

A hand held out a
tissue. “Here.”

“Oh, Patty, he
just—” Ellen reached for the tissue and held it against her eyes. “He—”

“Come on. Let it
out,” Patty said, rubbing her back. “But let’s get you away from this crowd.”

“Crowd? Oh no! No!”
Ellen looked up from her wet tissue. “They saw this? Please tell me no one saw
this scene.”

“Who the hell
cares?” Patty grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the crowd gathered
nearby. “Let them say what they want. Screw ’em.”

“What will they
say?” Ellen’s stomach cramped at the gossip this would create. A feeding
frenzy! Jonathan was right. “What should I do? I can’t go out without him. I
should leave, but I can’t
 …
this
is my event.” She turned away. “Oh, why? Why Jonathan? Why tonight?” She turned
away. “Oh, why? Why Jonathan? Why tonight?”

“What made him
upset?”

“He …
he …” Ellen dabbed her eyes again. “He said he’s leaving me, that it’s
over.”

Patty grabbed a
chair and sat close, put her arm around Ellen’s shoulder and hugged her.

“—that he can’t
pretend any longer.” Ellen took a deep breath. They sat in silence for a
moment. “But, he’d been drinking.”

“Of course—he was
drunk,” Patty said, sounding relieved as she sat back. “That’s all it is. He’ll
feel terrible about being such an ass tomorrow.”

“Yes …
tomorrow. He’ll realize …” Ellen tried to register this possibility. “But
what if he wasn’t drunk? He said he loves that tramp he’s been seeing and wants
to be with her, that he wants to marry her.” Ellen sobbed as the words came
out. “What if he means it?”

“They all say that
at one time or another. I’m surprised. I thought you were the only couple not
to have an interloper.”

“I wish.” She
grabbed more tissues. “He’s had … it’s happened before, but never
serious.”

Patty shook her head
and hesitated. “Is she young?”

Ellen nodded, “She
can’t be more than twenty-six, maybe twenty-eight.”

“Damn it. Aren’t
they all?” Patty shouted and raised her arms as if pleading for sympathy. She
leaned forward. “Do you know how long they’ve been …?”

Ellen inhaled a deep
breath and held it. “I don’t know. I stopped paying attention to his liaisons a
long time ago. I mean, as long as he stayed, what did it matter?”

“My dear, you
need
to take charge and do your homework.”

“What?”

“You need a private
investigator. Get the details. Could be all kinds of dirt on her.”

“You’re joking? I
could never—”

“No. Listen, this
might be just a false alarm, you know, drunken talk. But I say where there’s
smoke, there’s usually fire. It could be just a smoldering campfire, but those
little suckers can rage into a bloody forest fire. So get on it, just in case.”

“Oh no,” Ellen cried
as a sharp rush of nausea hit. “You think he will actually leave me?”

“No.” Patty put her
hands on Ellen’s shoulders. “No, I just think it’s better—”

“Patty, I would die
if he left me.” Ellen tore at the tissue in her hands. “I can’t be
alone …”

“Then you need to do
something. Come on.” Patty grabbed the shredded tissues and tossed them on the
table. “Let’s stop all this worrying and try to have a bit of fun. This is
still a fabulous party and you planned it. Let’s not let him ruin the night
completely. Besides, this may turn out to be a big to-do about nothing.”

“But what will I
say?” Ellen asked. She opened her compact again and tried touching up her eyes
in the dim light. “I can’t face this … but I have to say something.”

“That he was
behaving like a jackass, so you sent him home?”

“Maybe I can say he
got sick.” Ellen looked out toward the incoming crowd.

“Atta girl! Now, we
need a cocktail, get some reinforcement.” Patty jumped to her feet.

Ellen stood and
nodded in agreement, but it still felt like someone had shredded her insides
with a steel grater. She forced her cheeks into a smile as Lady Sutherland and
Greta approached.
You can do this
, she told herself.
Be strong. Don’t
let them see. Be strong!

“Ellen, where’s
Jonathan?”

“He got sick,” Ellen
replied, trying to sound casual. “He’s having trouble with his—”

“Mrs. Z thought he
was yelling at you.”

“And someone said he
stormed out and got a cab, did you have a fight?”

Ellen bit her lip,
fighting back tears. This was going to be a very long night.

After the gala, a
broken Ellen returned home, alone. The evening had been unbearable—acting
strong while everyone around her gossiped. Jonathan had taken a cab home that
night to pack. He left a message with their housekeeper, Maria, saying he would
be away on business and gave no return date. By the time Ellen came home and checked
his room, he was gone. Judging by the empty hangers, he planned to be away a
long time.

Every time Ellen
imagined her Sunday luncheon, her resolve wilted until she finally canceled it.
She refused to take any calls or get out of bed, telling the staff she was sick
with a contagious flu. Evidently they believed her, for the house was a quiet
morgue.

She spent Saturday
crying and torturing herself with images of Jonathan in the arms of that evil,
calculating tramp. She pictured him groping that young body. She imagined them
so clearly, staring into each other’s eyes and gushing pathetic fake words of
love, believing in every lie that crossed their treacherous lips. Then, for
extra torture, she lay in bed reading all the cards and letters he had written during
the first years of their marriage. Cards and letters filled with loving words
and tender emotion, proving how much he had loved her in those early years.

Where was this
affectionate man now? The banal valentine Jonathan left for her sat neglected
on the front console table. Every time Ellen thought about it, she cried. She
cried for all the words no longer spoken, for all the feelings he no longer
had. Finally, in an act of self-preservation, she shoved it into the drawer,
while her card to him lay on his dresser, unopened.

By Sunday, she was
exhausted.
Fool,
she repeated through her tears. But who was the fool?
Jonathan? Herself? Both perhaps.
Haven’t I been through this nonsense of
yours before? Haven’t I seen this so-called passion burn out and die as quickly
as it started? Hasn’t my heart been damaged enough over the years to become
immune to pain? It should have. Through all your mistresses, the failures and
forgiveness, a bond emerged between us. A binding, silent agreement. Jonathan,
have you forgotten? I followed the rules. I became everything you wanted in a
wife. A perfect mother. How did I fail you? I gave you your freedom. I allowed
your habits. Wasn’t that enough? It should have been.

Finally, after hours
of lying in bed, feeling every bit as sad as the night of the gala, she got up
and went to her bathroom and splashed cool water on her swollen eyes.
Enough
already,
she scolded herself.
You’re stronger than this. Do something.
She thought of going to church. She had rarely missed Sunday morning mass. But
seeing anyone would only remind her of what she was trying so hard to forget.
She stared at her puffy face and tried to remember how it looked when she was
young.
Have I actually changed that much? Is fifty-eight really too old to
be loved? If he can’t love an old me, who will? He at least knew I was once
young and pretty. All any other man would notice today is a sad, wrinkled
woman. Someone’s leftover.

She needed comfort.
Anything. She went to the closets in the bedrooms, hauled out all the
photographs and albums from the past forty years, and brought them to his
bedroom. She amassed a substantial pile of shoeboxes and albums, all holding
the record and proof of their love, an entire lifetime. She carefully spread
them out over his bed.

As she sorted
through the pile, every picture tore away little pieces of her heart, reminding
her of the happiness they once shared. It hurt every time she tried to think of
life without him. He was the only man in the entire collection of photos. The
only man she ever loved. How could she live without him? She had not dated
anyone before Jonathan. What did she know of men? And who would she be without
him? Their lives had blended for so long, was there an Ellen without a
Jonathan?

What if he did
leave? She stared at the pile of memories. Would these albums be filled with
pain and heartache? Would she ever be able to look with pleasure at the past?
Or would it be permanently ruined, eternally reminding her of what she had
lost, what she once had? And forever after, every time she looked on these
photos, would she experience the pain of never being able to recapture the
happiness they once shared?

Even worse, would
she eventually cut him out of all the photos, as other angry women have done,
in a desperate attempt to enjoy viewing them again? Amputate him from every
scene; erase him from the past forty years, as if he never existed. Would she
erase the hurt and pain with the quick cut of a sharp pair of scissors, as if
the stories spoken within each photo could somehow be retold without him
present?

The irony of it was,
if he died, all these photographs would be savored
 …
cherished as an eternal tribute. No cutting or clipping.
No damage inflicted. A collection of their love, a lifetime of their happiness,
frozen and preserved forever. Immortalized. If he died. Yet, if he divorced
her, the damage would be irreparable, the pictures forever ruined, forever
tainted. Toxic reminders. Why so different?

Ellen looked at each
memory of their life together and realized how much she needed to be his wife.
She would always love him. She could never cut him out of the photographs. He
had to stay. He was an essential part of her. Remaining his wife took
precedence over everything else in her life and she would do anything to keep
him; if only she knew how.

On Sunday afternoon,
the phone rang. It had been ringing all day Saturday, mostly because of her
canceled luncheon, but had been, today, oddly silent. With every ring, Ellen
prayed that Jonathan had finally come to his senses. Her housekeeping staff,
Carlos and Maria, had strict orders to take messages unless it was him, or an
emergency. When Ellen heard Carlos’s footsteps on the stairs, her heart beat
fast.

“Mrs. Wentworth is
here,” Carlos announced through the closed door. “Shall I—”

“I’ll be right
down,” Ellen said, then imagined the staff overhearing them. “Wait,” she called
through the door. “Carlos, send her up here, to my bedroom.”

Ellen stood and
smoothed the bedspread, then pushed the piles of photographs and albums into
the center. She plumped the pillows, arranging them against the headboard.

She had first met
Patty twenty years before, when Jonathan became a member of the business
committee at the Met. Patty had been a member for several years and took it
upon herself to initiate him. Through that successful partnership, Ellen also
found a close friend. It helped that her husband Phil and Jonathan got along
and liked the same music, Cuban cigars and single malt scotch.

Ellen knew Patty had
been vaguely aware of Jonathan’s recent indiscretions, but there were still
dark secrets Ellen would never reveal. In society, Ellen understood a friend
can only be so close since the potential for backstabbing was always hovering
in the background. Women gossip and hurt one another at the best of times, but
when money and power are involved, nothing is off-limits.

Ellen put all the
tissues into a wastebasket beside the nightstand and was about to head to her
room to meet Patty.

“Knock, knock,”
Patty said, opening the door and poking her head inside.

“Come in,” Ellen
answered, wishing Carlos had sent Patty to her room instead.

“I come bearing
comfort,” Patty said, putting her arm around Ellen’s waist.

Ellen returned the
hug, unable to force a smile. “What exactly is your idea of comfort?”

“The new Escada
catalog, a box of decadent chocolate truffles, and my personal favorite—a
bottle of ’76 Tattinger Rosé
 …
oh,
and I tucked in a book on seducing your man.”

Ellen looked toward
the window. “Bit hard to seduce a man when he’s not here.”

“Well, you can be
ready for his return.” Patty set her bags down. “This, my dear, is war.”

“And I’m a one-woman
army.” Ellen faced her. “I’ve been in battle for a long time.”

“Well, you were
winning, if that’s any consolation,” Patty said with a laugh.

“Yes, I was, until
guerrilla warfare sabotaged my efforts.” Ellen peeked in the bag and pulled out
the truffles and champagne.

“Well, now you’re an
army of two. I think I can help. I also have the name of a very good private
eye to help find some dirt.”

“How very grand. I
do need a plan. I can’t fight a battle when he’s not playing fair.” She
hesitated. “When he won’t even talk about—” Tears broke through again and her
eyes burned trying to hold them back. She reached for a tissue as Patty
surveyed the room.

“I see you’ve been
torturing yourself. How about a break from all this self-pity?”

“I don’t want a
break,” Ellen said, dabbing her eyes. “I want to wallow in it and feel sorry
for myself until he comes home.”

“Well, I’d hate to
see you just rot away like this. Any idea how long that will be?”

“Who knows?”

“Well, this is a
shitty position he’s put you in. He’s a complete ass.”

Ellen stared at the
floor.

Patty touched her
arm. “Sorry, but he’s being nasty.” Patty opened the box of truffles and helped
herself. “Was he always this heartless?”

“No,” Ellen answered
in a hushed voice and sat on the leather sofa next to the fireplace. She
smoothed her hand across the cushion. “No, he used to be caring. He used to be
kind.” She hesitated. “I don’t know who this man is.”

The room was quiet
except the faint barking in the distance and the rhythmic tick of the clock on
Jonathan’s mantel. “I don’t understand any of it,” Ellen continued. “He never
complained before, always went along with everything. If there was a problem,
if he was that unhappy, why am I the last person to know about it?”

Ellen mindlessly
combed her fingers through fringe on the throw pillow beside her. “Of course
we’ve had disagreements, everyone does. Of course we aren’t as affectionate as
we once were
 …
everyone loses
that over the years. What we do have, what we always had, is friendship and
support. We were always good friends.” Patty stood before Ellen and held out
the truffles. Ellen picked out a dark powdered one as Patty sat beside her,
resting the box on her lap. Ellen continued, “It seems impossible to me he’d
just walk away; he knows I would do anything for him. At least he should know.”

“Maybe he’s
forgotten.”

“Yes, I’m sure he
has. He’s forgotten everything else, it seems.” Ellen examined the deep ebony
truffle, then let the smooth chocolate dissolve on her tongue as she wiped her
fingers on a tissue. She stood and went to wash her hands. “Every one of those
photographs shows what we shared,” she called out from Jonathan’s bathroom. “I
look through them and all I see is how happy we were,” she continued. “I see a
man who loved his wife and children.”

She walked to the
bed and stood beside Patty, who was leaning forward, studying the assortment.
“I see a man who gave time and energy to make sure we had a great life
together. We did so much over the years.” Patty sat and studied the pictures
and picked up an album. “You? Fishing? I would never imagine you roughing it,
my dear. Quite the rustic little trip, rubber boots and all.”

Ellen blushed at
their poverty, pulling the album from Patty’s hands and closing it. She
suddenly wanted Patty far away from all the photos of her past. “It was, but it
was very romantic. I could never do it now—the bugs and sleeping on hard
ground, waking with an aching back. Funny, when you’re young, you don’t care,
none of that matters.”

“Yes, makeup and
fashion don’t seem to matter either,” Patty said with a laugh. “And all that
hunting plaid.” She opened the album again. “But you look beautiful. Natural
beauty.”

“If only we could
keep it forever. Come, let’s go sit by the window.”

Patty shook her
head. “I wonder sometimes if we could just look young forever, would all these
men still leave us? Would they need these playthings if we hung on to our
youth?”

Ellen glanced away
for a moment, weighing the truth in the statement. “He thinks he loves her.
She’s not even thirty. How can she actually know about love?”

“Infatuation—”

“She barely knows
him. It’s not love, not the real love you share over a lifetime together. I get
so angry. Angry at her. Angry at him. They are both so stupid.” Ellen’s voice
grew loud. “They think they have something special. All she sees is a bag of
money with a man attached.”

“It’s pathetic.”

“He’s preyed on by
this conniving, evil tramp, who just wants a lifestyle and bank account and
cares nothing about him. I bet she barely knows the first thing about him.”

“Perhaps that’s the
attraction,” Patty said and took another truffle, “he can hide who he really is
and become whatever he wants. He can live a fantasy with her, but with you, he
can’t.”

“Absolutely. I know
him too well. I also know what’s best for him. That twit has no idea.”

Patty opened another
album and stopped at a picture of Ellen in a navy school uniform. “Look at you,
so adorable in your smart little getup. But you don’t look too happy.”

“I wasn’t.” Ellen
waited as Patty flipped past a few pages, then took the album from her. “I
hated boarding school. I wanted to escape so badly. When I met Jonathan, I
found my escape and my savior all in one.” Ellen paused, remembering how
desperate she was to be with him, willing to do anything, and how far she went
to ensure he would marry her.

She smiled at Patty.
“He showed up at a church dance one evening in ‘45, on leave from the war, in
his sharp uniform, so handsome …
and
that smile.” She blushed. She opened the album to a photo of Jonathan in
uniform, his arm around Ellen’s waist. “He pulled me out of that horrible
school and made me feel loved and safe, something I hadn’t felt since my father
died.”