Bittersweet

CHAPTER 11

GAIL HAD called India several times when they got back from Harwich, but they had missed each other. She left cheery messages on the answering machine but she was never home when India called her back. They had spoken to each other twice after Gail got back from Europe, and she had a feeling something was wrong, but India insisted everything was fine when she asked her.
Gail said the trip to Europe had been more fun than she expected. Jeff had actually been more entertaining than usual, and by some miracle, despite long hours in the car, the kids managed not to fight with each other. It had been the best trip they'd ever had.
The two women didn't actually run into each other until the first day of school, and they finally met in the parking lot after Sam and Gail's twins had gone inside. But the moment Gail saw her, she could see that something terrible had happened to India that summer.
“My God, are you all right?” India hadn't had time
to braid her hair that morning. She'd had to do double car pools for Jessica, and the other kids, and she felt frazzled and knew she looked a little wild and disheveled.
“I didn't have time to brush my hair,” she said, running her hand over the blond mane with a smile. “Do I look that bad?”
“Yes,” Gail said honestly, with worried eyes examining her, “but it's not your hair. You look like you've lost ten pounds.”
“What's wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Except you look like someone died.” She had. But she hadn't wanted to tell Gail about it. “What happened to you? Did you get sick this summer?” Gail looked genuinely worried.
“Sort of,” she said vaguely, trying to avoid Gail's eyes, but as usual, she was unsuccessful. Gail had a terrier quality to her when she wanted to know something.
“Oh, Jesus. Are you pregnant?” But she didn't look like it. She looked miserable and dead inside. There was a lot more wrong with her than morning sickness. “Have you got time for a cappuccino?”
“I guess so,” India said limply. She had some things to organize at home, a stack of laundry to do, and a list of women to call to confirm her car pools.
“I'll meet you at ‘Caffe Latte’ in five minutes.”
They both got in their cars, and Gail was already ordering for them when India got there. She knew exactly the way India liked it. Cappuccino with a splash of low-fat milk, two sugars. Five minutes later, they were at a corner table, with two chocolate-covered biscotti between them.
“You didn't say anything when I called you in Harwich. What in hell has been going on with you this summer?” Gail was upset as she looked at her. She had never seen India so miserable or so lifeless, and she only hoped she didn't have some terrible physical problem. At their age, there was always that to think of, like breast cancer. As Gail watched her, India took a sip of the cappuccino and said nothing for a moment. “Is it you and Doug?” she asked with a moment of insight.
“Maybe. Actually it's me. I don't know…. The ball started rolling in June and it's turned into an avalanche since then.”
“What ball?” What was she talking about? But Gail just sat there and listened for a minute, while India said nothing. “Did you have an affair on the Cape?” She knew that was preposterous, but it was worth asking anyway. You never knew about people. Sometimes the quiet, loyal ones like India fell the hardest. But if she'd had an affair, it certainly didn't look like it had gone well.
“After you and I talked, before school let out,” India began to explain painfully, “I started thinking about working again. It was when I turned down the job in Korea. I don't know …maybe that was what did it … I honestly don't know what did. But I started thinking that I might enjoy doing stories again once in a while, nothing big, just like the one in Harlem.”
“That was pretty big, India. You should have won an award for it. It was a very important piece of journalism.”
“Well, anyway, I was thinking that I could do stories around here … in New York … in the States at any rate, as long as it wasn't for too long, or too far away. … I thought maybe I could find someone to help with the kids if I did that.”
“That's terrific.” Gail looked pleased for her, but it was obvious there was more to the story. “And then what?”
“Doug went crazy. He basically threatened to leave me if I did, to put it in a nutshell. We practically haven't talked to each other all summer, or done anything else with each other, for that matter,” she said darkly, and Gail was quick to get the gist of her meaning.
“It sounds like he's being an a*shole,” Gail said bluntly.
“You might say that. He put it in no uncertain terms. He basically forbade me to do any assignments. He said I had betrayed him, that I was breaking the ‘deal’ I made with him when I married him, that I'd destroy our family, and he wouldn't put up with it. Basically, my choices are that I can do some work and he'll walk out on me, or I can keep my mouth shut, keep doing what I've done for fourteen years, and stay married. It's that simple.”
“What's the payoff here for you? What do you get out of it if you sacrifice your talent for him, just to soothe his ego? Because it sounds to me like he's threatened, and he's bullying the hell out of you. What's he offering you to sweeten the deal?”
“Nothing. And that's the other thing …” India said as tears sprang to her eyes as she put down her cappuccino. “We had sort of a dumb conversation in June when he took me out to dinner. He made it sound like I'm some kind of a workhorse he bought years ago. He ‘expects’ me to take care of his kids, and just be there. But to tell you the truth, Gail,” the tears overflowed then and rolled down her cheeks slowly, “I'm not even sure he loves me.” India's voice caught on a sob as she said it.
“He probably does.” Gail looked at her sympathetically, she felt sorry for her. India looked so desperately unhappy. “He just may not know it, or how to show it. He's not that different from Jeff. He thinks I'm part of the furniture, but if he ever lost me, it would probably kill him.”
“I'm not sure Doug feels that way. He made it sound like he owns me, but not like he loves me. I don't think he does. And if he does, I'm so mad at him anyway, I'm not even sure I care anymore. It's the most godawful feeling … I feel like my whole life fell apart this summer.” Gail watched her as she listened, wondering what else had happened. She suspected there was more to it, although what she had heard was enough to upset anyone. India felt ignored, unloved, and unimportant to her husband. “Anyway, I told him I wouldn't take any assignments anymore, even the ones like Harlem. I'll keep my name on the roster, but I won't take anything they give me. I just can't do it. I think he really would leave me. We argued about it for two months, and it wrecked our whole summer. If I hold out for what I want, it'll destroy our life, and I don't want that.”
“So you give up what you want?” It made Gail's blood boil, but the theory wasn't unfamiliar to her. “And what did he say? Did he thank you} Does he get it?”
“No. He just seemed to expect it. But the night I told him, he tried to make love to me for the first time in nearly two months. I almost hit him. And he hasn't touched me since then. What I don't know is where I go from here …what do I do? Suddenly all the things I did without even questioning them don't feel right anymore. I feel like I lost a part of myself this summer, and I don't know how to get it back again, or if I ever will. I feel like I gave him my heart and my insides.” Looking at her, Gail was truly worried. It was obvious that India felt destroyed over what had happened, and she wasn't sure what to say to make her feel better. To Gail, this was why women had affairs, and cheated on their husbands, to find someone who made them feel loved and cherished and important. And Gail knew, maybe even more than India did, that Doug had taken a hell of a chance with his position. He may have thought he'd won, but Gail wasn't so sure yet. India was really hurting.
“What else did you do this summer, other than cry, and fight with Doug? Did you have any fun at all, go anywhere with the kids, meet new people?” She was trying to distract her. It seemed like all she could do now. And at the question she asked, India brightened.
“I met Serena Smith,” she said, wiping her eyes, and blowing her nose in the paper napkin. She looked and felt awful, which confirmed to Gail what she had thought in the first place. Doug Taylor was an a*shole.
“The writer?” Gail looked interested immediately. She had read everything she'd ever written. “How'd you manage that?”
“She was a friend's college roommate, and her husband came to Harwich with his sailboat. Sam and I went out on it with him, and he was wonderful to Sam. We got to know him before Serena got there. I did a book cover shot for her, and she seemed pretty happy with it.” Talking about Serena reminded India that she had brought the photograph of Serena and Paul back to Westport with her, but she still hadn't had time to send it to her.
“Who's she married to?” Gail said, finishing her cappuccino.
“Paul Ward, he's a financier of some kind,” she said, looking pensive for a moment, and Gail stopped as she watched her.
“The Paul Ward? The Wizard of Wall Street?” “I guess so. He's a nice man. She's very lucky.” “He's also gorgeous. He was on the cover of Time last year for some big deal he made. He must be worth billions.”
“They have a wonderful sailboat. But she hates it.” India smiled as she said it, remembering their conversations about Serena's aversion to the Sea Star, and the funny things Paul said about it.
“Wait a minute.” Gail narrowed her eyes at her friend with increasing interest, and suspicion. “Are you telling me you went out on the boat with him, before she got there?”
“She was in L.A., working on a movie.”
Gail was never one to mince words, and she had
known India for years. There was something in her
friend's eyes now that caught her attention. “India, are
you in love with him? Is that part of all this?” She was
more astute than India wanted to believe, or would allow herself to acknowledge, even about her own feelings.
“Don't be silly.”
“Bullshit. The guy looks like Gary Cooper or Clark Gable or something. Time magazine called him ‘indecently handsome, and ruggedly alluring.’ I remember what he looks like. And you and Sam went out on his boat with him? …Then what?”
“We kind of made friends. We talked a lot. He's very smart about people. But he's also crazy about Serena.”
“That's nice for her. What about you? Did he come on to you on the boat?”
“Of course not.” Even the question was offensive. She knew Paul would never have done that. Nor would she have let him if he had. They respected each other.
“Has he called you?”
“Not really.” India's eyes told a different story, and Gail saw it instantly. India was protecting something, as though she had a secret about Paul.
“Wait a minute. There is calling, and not calling. What is ‘not really’? Not really is calling and getting a busy signal. Did he call you?” She was digging, but she also had India's best interests at heart, and India knew that. And nothing would have shocked Gail if it had been a different story, but it wasn't.
“Yeah. He called me. Once. From Gibraltar. He was on the boat, on his way to Europe.”
“On his sailboat? It must be the size of the QE II” She looked impressed and India laughed at her.
“It's pretty big, and really wonderful. Sam loved it.”
“And what about you? Did you love it too?”
“Yes. I loved it. And I liked him. He's a wonderful man, and I think he likes me. But he's married, and so am I, and my life is falling apart and it has nothing to do with Paul Ward, believe me.”
“I understand that. But he might provide a little relief from your miseries. Did he ask to see you?”
“Of course not. Anyway, he's in Europe.”
“How do you know?” Gail was fascinated by him, and by India meeting such illustrious people.
“He said he was going to be there till after Labor Day.”
“With Serena?”
“I think she was going home early.”
“Did he ask you to join him?”
“Will you stop? There is nothing to this, I promise. He said he'd love to have me on the boat with my children sometime. He's a friend, that's all. Forget it. And I'm not going to have an affair with anyone. I just gave up my career, or any hope of it, forever, for my husband. If I wanted to lose my marriage, I could take an assignment, for chrissake. I don't have to have an affair to f*ck my life up any further.”
“It might actually help it,” Gail said thoughtfully, although for once she didn't really think so. India wasn't the type to enjoy it. She was too straight-arrow to play the games Gail did, and Gail loved her for it. She had a lot of respect for her, and she was sorry to see her in such bad shape now, and she had no idea how to help her. She thought Doug was a fool, and an insensitive bastard, but if India wanted to stay married to him, there wasn't anything anyone could do about it to help her. She had to play the game his way. No matter what it cost her.
“Maybe he'll call you again sometime,” Gail said hopefully, but India only shrugged. She knew he wasn't the answer to her problems.
“I don't think he'll call,” India said quietly. “It's really kind of pointless. We got along wonderfully, but there's no way to continue a friendship like that. Our lives are too complicated. And I really like his wife. I might do some more pictures for her.” India was completely adapted to her situation.
“Will Doug let you take pictures of her?” Those were the boundaries of her life now, and she had to live with them. Like prison walls. Or a life sentence.
“Maybe. I didn't ask him. But he might. That's pretty harmless, and all I have to do is go into the city for an afternoon. I could even do it for her, without having her give me credit.”
“What a waste,” Gail said sadly. “You're one of the best photographers in the country, the world maybe, and you're just flushing it right down the toilet.” It really made her angry, especially seeing India so depressed about it.
“Apparently that was the ‘deal’ I made with Doug when we got married, although he didn't spell it out quite that clearly. I said I'd give up working, I don't think I ever said I'd burn all my bridges.”
“Then don't. Don't take your name off the roster. Maybe he'll back down eventually, after he stops beating his chest over it. It's all about ego, and control, and a lot of other unattractive stuff men do to make them-selves feel important. Maybe in a year or two, he'll feel differently about it.”
“I doubt it.” That was very clear now. She just had to put one foot in front of the other, and do just what Doug expected of her.
And with that, India stood up. She had things to do at home. She hadn't even made their bed before breakfast. Lately she felt as though she had lead in her shoes, and everything seemed to take longer than usual. Even getting dressed, and she couldn't be bothered to do her hair or wear makeup. She felt as though her life were over. It all seemed so pointless.
They walked slowly back to their cars, and Gail gave her a hug and stood facing her for a minute. “Don't rule out Paul Ward entirely, India. Sometimes guys make great friends, and I don't know why, but I get the feeling that there's more to this than you're admitting to me … or to yourself maybe. There's something about the way you look when you talk about it.” It had been the only time her eyes had come alive or her face had been animated all morning. “Don't give it up, whatever it is. You need it.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I think he just feels sorry for me.”
“I doubt that. You're not exactly a pathetic figure normally. You're beautiful, smart, fun to be with, funny. He's probably attracted to you, maybe he's just one of the rare ones who's faithful to his wife. That's always a possibility, depressing as that is.” She grinned wickedly and India laughed at her.
“You're hopeless. What about you? Any new victims for lunch or the motel circuit?” They had no secrets between them, or they hadn't until now. India hadn't wanted to admit to her how attractive she found Paul. It was better left: secret. And there really was nothing to it. It was probably all a figment of her imagination. But the call from Gibraltar hadn't been. He'd probably just been bored, or maybe lonely after the crossing. But he could have called Serena instead, and he didn't. India had turned it around in her head a number of times after he called her, wondering why he had, and finally decided it didn't matter.
“Dan Lewison has a girlfriend,” Gail informed her. “And Harold and Rosalie are getting married in January, after the divorce is final. And there's no one new on the horizon.”
“How boring. Maybe I should give you Paul's number,” she teased, and they both laughed.
“I'd love it. Anyway, kiddo, take it easy. Don't be sad. And when Doug comes home tonight, kick him in the shins, it'll do you both good. And besides, he deserves it.” India didn't disagree with her, and she waved as she got into her car and drove off to the chores that were waiting. But she felt better after seeing Gail, and unburdening herself to her. There wasn't much she could do to change her life right now. But at least talking to someone about it was something, and it had helped her.
She picked the kids up after school, as usual, and took Jason and Aimee for their tennis lessons. Sam went home with a friend and came home in time for dinner. And Jessica was all excited about being a sophomore. Two seniors had actually looked at her, and one of them had actually said something to her. And mercifully, Doug stayed in the city to have dinner with clients. India just wasn't in the mood to deal with him. And she was asleep when he came home on the last train, and slipped into bed beside her.
He was already up and in the shower when she got up the next morning, and she put on her jeans and a sweatshirt without combing her hair, and ran downstairs to let the dog out and make breakfast.
She put the Wall Street Journal and The New York Times at Doug's place, and started a pot of coffee. And while she was pouring cereal into bowls for the kids, she glanced at the paper, and saw Serena on the front page. What startled her was that it was the picture India had taken of her that summer. She was surprised to see it in The Times, with her name along the side in a small credit line, as she unfolded the paper, and then she gasped as the cereal spilled all over the table.
For a moment, she felt as though all the air had been squeezed out of her as she read the headline. There had been a plane crash on a flight from London to New York the night before, and the FBI suspected a bomb planted by terrorists, though as yet no one had taken responsibility for it. Serena had been on the plane, and there were no survivors.
“Oh my God,” she said softly as she sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, with her hands trembling as she held the paper. The story in the newspaper said that the plane had taken off, as usual, after a slight delay due to a mechanical problem of some kind, and the plane had exploded without warning two hours out of Heathrow. There had been three hundred and seventy-six people on board, among them a congresswoman from Iowa, a British M.P., a well-known ABC newscaster returning from a special he had done the week before in Jerusalem, and Serena Smith, internationally known bestselling author and movie producer. And all India could think of, as she looked at the photograph she had taken herself, were the things Serena had said while she took pictures of her that summer. It had been almost exactly two months before, and India knew without a moment's doubt that Paul would be devastated.
She didn't know what to do, whether to write or to call, or how to reach out to him. She could only imagine how he felt, and she felt terrible for him. Serena may well have been difficult, and she may not have liked his boat, but she was an extraordinary woman and it had been obvious to Serena, as it was to everyone else, that he was crazy about her. The article said that she was fifty years old and was survived by her husband, Paul Ward, and a sister in Atlanta. India was still reading the article when Sam came down to breakfast.
“Hi, Mom, what's wrong?” There was cereal all over the table, and India looked as though she'd seen a ghost. She was as white as the empty cereal bowl sitting before her.
“I … it … I was just reading something.” And then she decided to tell him. “Remember Paul, with the Sea Star?” She knew he did, but she had to identify him somehow. “His wife died in a plane crash.”
“Wow!” Sam looked impressed. “I bet Paul is really sad. She didn't like the boat though.” That was equally important to Sam, and clearly showed her as defective. But he was nonetheless sorry for Paul, as she was. And as they were talking about it, the others came down, and Doug was with them.
“What's all the excitement about?” he asked, there was an atmosphere of hysteria in the kitchen, mostly caused by the appearance of their mother. It was obvious, just looking at her, that something terrible had happened.
“My friend Paul's wife was exploded by a bomb,” Sam said dramatically, as the others talked about it with interest.
“That sounds unusual,” Doug said, helping himself to a cup of coffee. “Paul who?”
“Paul Ward,” India explained. “He owns the yacht we visited this summer. He was married to Serena Smith, the writer.” She had told him about it, and he remembered instantly, and raised an eyebrow.
“How did she manage to get in the way of a bomb?” He looked somewhat nonplussed.
“She was on a plane that went down last night out of Heathrow.” Doug only shook his head in disapproval, and picked up the Wall Street Journal He had no sense of how upset his wife was. And he left, without saying another word, ten minutes later, after eating a muffin. He said nothing to India as he left, and the children were still talking about the crash when they were picked up by their car pools. She was grateful she didn't have to drive them.
And she sat in the kitchen afterward, staring at the paper, and thinking of Paul. He was all she could think of now, and how distraught he must have been. But she didn't dare call him. The phone rang as she sat there. It was Gail.
“Did you see the paper?” Gail sounded breathless.
“I just read it. I can't believe it.” India sounded vague and distracted.
“You never know what's going to happen, do you? At least I guess no one suffered. They said it exploded in a blinding flash in less than a second.” They had been seen by another plane flying above them.
“I can't begin to imagine how he feels. He was so much in love with her.” But he had nevertheless managed to call India from his boat, Gail wanted to point out, but didn't. And when he recovered from the blow, he would be a free man, which might just create an interesting dilemma for her, or so Gail thought.
“Are you going to call him?”
“I don't think I should intrude,” India said, and then she remembered the photograph she had taken. She could send it to him now. It was a beautiful picture of both of them, and he might want to have it.
“You could go to the funeral. I'm sure they'll have some kind of memorial service for her in a few days. He might like to see you,” Gail said practically, ever helpful.
“Maybe.” They talked about it for a few minutes, and then hung up. And India went to look for the picture. She found it in a stack of papers she'd been meaning to get to in her darkroom. She had never gotten around to sending it to Serena, as she had promised. And she stood and looked at it for a long time, looking first into Paul's eyes, and then Serena's. Just the way they sat together spoke volumes. He was draped across the back of her chair, and she was leaning her head against him, on the Sea Star, and she was beaming. It was hard to believe she was gone, so instantly, so totally, so quickly. It must have been even harder for Paul to absorb. And as India thought about him, she realized he was probably still in Europe, on the Sea Star. Or flying home by then, after they notified him. She had no idea what one did in a case like this. But it was obvious to her, as she thought about it, that it was better not to call him.
Instead she sat among the breakfast dishes on the kitchen table, and wrote him a letter, telling him how sorry she was, knowing how devastated he must be. It was a short but heartfelt note, and she enclosed it with the photograph, and drove to the post office to send it.
She felt as though she were moving underwater all afternoon. She just couldn't get over what had happened, and she still felt shell-shocked when she picked up the children at school.
She managed to get dinner on the table that night, but when Doug came home, she still hadn't combed her hair since that morning.
“What happened to you today? You look as though you'd been kidnapped.”
“I'm just upset,” she said honestly, needing to share it with him finally. “I feel so badly about Serena Smith.”
“You couldn't have known her that well. You only met her once or twice, didn't you?” He looked disinterested, and puzzled by her reaction.
“I did a shoot with her, for the back of her next book. It was the picture they ran in The Times this morning.”
“You never told me,” he said, his mouth setting into a thin line.
“I must have forgotten. Her husband was crazy about her. He must be just sick over it.” India looked distraught as she explained it to him.
“These things happen,” Doug said blandly, and started talking to Jason, as India felt her heart sink. There was no sympathy whatsoever left between them. There was nothing, only the lingering resentment of the summer, like the acrid smell of smoke after an electrical fire. It seemed to her as though everything they had once had had been burned to ashes in the meantime.
And after the children were in bed that night, India turned on the news to see what they said about the accident. There was a major story about the plane going down, and a smaller one about Serena. There were interviews with several people about the crash, and a spokesman for the FBI. And when the anchorman mentioned Serena being on the plane again, he said arrangements were being made for a memorial service at Saint Ignatius Church in New York on Friday. And India sat there for a long time afterward, staring at the TV, as they talked about sports and the weather. But she was thinking about Gail's suggestion that she go to the service.
“Are you coming to bed?” Doug asked quietly as she sat there. She still hadn't combed her hair or showered. It seemed totally irrelevant now in the face of the crash. She was completely engrossed in what had happened to Serena.
“In a while,” she said vaguely, and walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and sat down in her jeans, on the toilet. She was thinking about Paul, and about his wife, and their ruptured life, that had exploded in a million tiny shards over the Atlantic. And then, somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized she was thinking about her husband, and the fact that she no longer wanted to sleep with him. She even hated getting into the same bed with him, and that couldn't go on forever. She had no idea what to do about it. It was easier to just sit there, grieving for Paul and Serena, instead of for herself and Doug and their crippled marriage.
She took forever in the shower, and washed her hair, hoping he'd be asleep when she got out, but he was in bed reading a magazine when she got there. And he turned to look at her with a cool expression.
“Are we going to keep playing these games for much longer, India?” Nothing about the way he spoke to her made him either alluring or inviting. She viewed him now like the warden in a prison, which was hardly conducive to a seductive sex life.
“What games?”
“You know what I'm talking about. If you stayed in the shower any longer than you do these days, you'd melt and go down the drain. I get the message.”
“You were the one with the message all summer.” She suddenly felt angry and cornered, and tired and depressed. What had happened to them in the last three
months? Their relationship had become a nightmare. “It seemed pretty clear that you had no interest in me, until I told you I wasn't going to take any more assignments, and then you decided it was okay to lay a hand on me again. That's not particularly touching. You got what you wanted, so now you think you own me. Well, you do. But maybe you need to be a little subtler about it.” She had never said anything like it to him, and they both looked shocked when she said it. He recoiled from her almost as though she'd slapped him.
“It's certainly helpful to know how you view things.”
“You made it pretty obvious. You decided to get laid as soon as you got what you wanted. You didn't even bother to thank me, or acknowledge the concession I made, or tell me you loved me.” All she wanted was to know that he cared about her and loved her.
“That again,” he said, with a look of extreme irritation. “You don't exactly create an atmosphere in our bedroom that inspires that kind of declaration.”
“Well, I'm sorry,” she said, her eyes blazing now. She was tired of it, all of it, and particularly his attitude about their sex life. Now that he had flipped the switch to the green light again, after two months of ignoring her, he was upset that she wasn't more willing. But he did absolutely nothing to repair the hurt he had caused her all summer. “Maybe you should have put that in our ‘deal’ too, sex whenever you're in the mood, and who cares when I am.”
“Fine, India. I get it. Forget it.” He turned off the light and left her sitting in the darkness, fuming with anger. And with that, he lay on his side, turned his back to her, and in two minutes he was snoring. Their argument didn't seem to have distressed him. And she lay there for hours, hating him, and wishing that she didn't. She knew that what she had said to him had been hurtful, but after everything he'd said and done to her, he deserved it.
She closed her eyes finally, and tried to think of Paul, sending him good thoughts of sympathy and friendship. And when she fell asleep finally, she dreamed of Serena. She was trying to tell India something, but as hard as India tried, she couldn't hear it. And somewhere in the distance, she saw Paul crying, and standing all alone. But no matter how hard India tried in the dream, she couldn't get to him.