It’s getting harder and harder to leave you, to return to my cold life and my cold family. I’m still wearing Teddy’s ring, the symbol of my broken promise. Except that I haven’t broken it yet, not officially—not at all, actually—and Cee-Cee has begun to harangue me about setting a date. Teddy, on the other hand, seems in no great hurry to get down the aisle. His telegrams come infrequently and are blessedly brief when they do, perfunctory and almost comically polite.
Perhaps there’s a woman like me somewhere, who keeps a key hidden in her compact and slips in and out of his life when she can manage it. I certainly wouldn’t begrudge him if there were. Not that he’s ever been particularly discreet about such things. Nor, as a man, is discretion demanded.
I keep hoping he’ll be the one to break it off, that he’ll find someone he prefers or simply acknowledge that we’ll never be happy together, but why would he? He loses nothing by marrying me. I, on the other hand, will lose everything. And so I must be the one to end it. And I will.
The how is the thing. And the when.
Forever, and Other Lies
(pgs. 50–56)
November 20, 1941
New York, New York
Teddy has come home.
We’ve seen each other twice. Both occasions were awkward, since he seemed even less eager to see me than I was to see him. I’ve realized, to my relief, that he won’t put up much of a fight when I tell him I’ve changed my mind. It’s my father’s wrath I fear. I need to be with you like I need my next breath, but the thought of defying my father terrifies me.
And so I do nothing.
You’re growing impatient, starting to lose faith in me. You haven’t said so directly, but I’m aware of a growing friction between us, offhand remarks, sullen silences when Teddy’s name unavoidably comes up. You don’t understand my reticence. I don’t blame you. I barely understand it myself, except to say I’m afraid.
And then one afternoon—you remember it, I’m sure—it all spills out.
We’ve spent an especially passionate afternoon together, but it’s time for me to leave. There’s a dinner later—one you’ll attend as a guest of my father—and I’ll need time to dress. Teddy will be there, too, with me on his arm. It won’t be the first time you and I have had to navigate such an evening. We’ve managed it before. But you’ve been brooding all afternoon and I sense a storm gathering as I collect my clothes and begin to dress.
You’re still in bed, propped up on one elbow, watching me in the mirror with a sulky frown.
“I’m sorry,” I say to your reflection. “I know tonight will be awkward.”
“Is that what you think? That it will be awkward? Watching the woman I love—the woman I’ve just made love to—hanging on the arm of another man, fielding questions about her upcoming wedding?”
I turn from the mirror and face you. “I know, Hemi. I do. And I promise—”
“Don’t.” You throw off the sheets and sit up, reaching for your trousers. “Don’t promise me anything, Belle. We both know they’re just words. But tonight is the last time. I’m done with whatever game it is you’re playing.”
Your words pierce me like darts. I’ve been expecting something, but not this. “You think I enjoy having to pretend you’re just some stranger in my father’s house? To smile my most charming smile and ask if you need your drink refreshed? I’ll remind you that you lied to me to gain access to my father. Now you’ve gotten exactly what you want and it’s my fault.”
“Don’t make this about me, Belle. You know I’d walk away from all that without batting an eye.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
“Why should I, when you won’t? You’ve given up exactly nothing for me.”
“It isn’t that simple, Hemi. You know it isn’t.”
“But it is, Belle. You tell your father you’re not marrying Teddy and you walk away. We’ll leave New York. Hell, we’ll leave the country if you want. But you have to put it in motion. And you won’t. Because when you weigh what you’d be giving up against what you’d be getting, the scales don’t balance. I come up short.”
“Do you honestly think that’s what’s holding me back? Money?”
“Not just money, no. But you’re used to a way of life I can never give you, and the longer we go on, the more you’re starting to realize it.”
I blink at you in the mirror, bristling, though I have no right to be angry. “Realize what?”
“That the adventure has run its course. It was exciting in the beginning, the newness of it, the risk of being caught, but the excitement is starting to wear off, and all you’re left with is a dingy apartment and a man with limited prospects.”
And just like that, my anger is suddenly justified. “You think this has been some kind of experiment? A game?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you did,” I fire back. “You said exactly that.”
I turn away and resume dressing. Moments later, I hear you step into your trousers and leave the room. Tears sting my eyes. I bat them away, too wounded to let you see them. That you could accuse me of such a thing reminds me again how little you know me—and how little I know you.
I never told you how I came to be standing in the ballroom of the St. Regis Hotel the night we met, but I’ll tell you now, so you’ll understand. Had I been paying better attention, I might have seen what was coming, though what I could have done to prevent it, I still don’t know.
It began as so many things in our world did back before my father’s fall from grace, with a dinner and a great deal of planning. One night, seemingly out of the blue, I came downstairs to find Teddy and his parents among my father’s dinner guests. Teddy lifted his glass as I entered the room, flashing an almost apologetic smile. We grew up in the same circles, largely at a distance, but we’d attended a few dances together and went to the movies once or twice when he was home from school. There were a few kisses of the chaste, good-night variety, but it never went beyond that. He was handsome but too brash for my taste, and not especially bright, as you yourself have pointed out. Nor had he ever expressed any serious interest in me. It was our fathers who were close. Partners in several large business ventures and members of all the same clubs.
My father spotted me as I came down the stairs and waved me over, all smiles as he introduced me to Teddy’s mother, who, until that night, had never been invited to our home, as his darling girl. I nodded politely and shook her hand, a hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach, because I suddenly understood what was happening. But I had no intention of marrying Teddy. The moment dinner ended, I pleaded a headache and, to my sister’s horror, excused myself for the remainder of the night.
The next morning, I paid for my folly. I was sternly scolded at breakfast for being rude to my guests. My father was not amused when I pointed out that Teddy and his parents were not my guests but his. I also informed him that I had no intention of marrying anyone. I was going to school to study art or education. I folded my napkin, then laid it aside and stood. My father stood, too, and slapped me so hard, I dropped back into my chair.