As the credits rolled we put on our coats and left the theater, still not speaking. I took her hand again as we went down the stairs from the balcony. At the bottom of the stairwell the light of day shone into the lobby, an unwelcome beam of reality. We dropped each other’s hands. I shot her a forlorn smile. She returned the same.
Outside on 59th Street we stood at that particularly Old World cross-section of New York, looking out at the square in front of the Plaza Hotel. As a professor of film, I often had scenes from movies running through my head. But this particular location seemed ironic to me now. As Andie bent down to tie her shoe, the final shots of The Way We Were, a film about two people who couldn’t be together, played before my eyes. Barbra Streisand saying, “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell,” before running her hand through Robert Redford’s hair for the last time. “See you, Katie,” he says, pain in his eyes. “See you,” she says to no one as he runs off to a waiting cab.
I had really lost it—a few meetings with this woman who was a virtual stranger to me and I was comparing us to the characters in one of the greatest cinematic love stories of all time. I had to start watching more sci-fi and apocalypse movies. I had a loving family that meant the world to me, and I to them. When Andie stood back up I would say it: “See you, Andie.” And I would leave. In fact I would run, and never look back.
“Oh my god,” she said as she stood. Her face was white. She looked as if she’d just witnessed a murder.
I touched her shoulder. “What is it?”
She recoiled. “Don’t touch me!”
I was totally confused. She sighed, looked again at her shoes, and then explained. She was calm and straightforward.
“John, there is a photographer taking pictures of us from across the plaza. He was hired by your wife, who’s trying to prove that you’re cheating.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. It felt like I’d been sucker-punched. “How do you know that?” I managed to stammer.
“I know because I’m a private investigator and I sometimes use that same photographer.”
At this point I thought she must be joking. I even laughed, relieved that she was just fooling around. But she went on.
“Your wife, Caroline, hired me a few months ago to try and find evidence that you were having an affair so she could take advantage of the infidelity clause in your prenup.”
“My prenup? What the hell do you know about my prenup?” I was feeling unsteady on my feet. Betrayed. Confused. My heart was racing; my neck felt like it was on fire.
“I told you, your wife hired me as a private eye. I’m sorry, John, but it turned out she was the one having an affair. She’s cheating on you but wanted to make it look the other way around, for the money.”
The fountain in the middle of the square started to spin before my eyes. It was hard to comprehend what she was saying. I steadied myself against the wall.
“Give me a minute,” I said. She lowered her head and let me stand, leaning against the side of a building, while I tried to wrap my head around what was happening here. Was this the end of my marriage?
When I could feel my feet on the ground again, I asked her, “You mean this was all a setup? You and me—we’re a setup to catch me being unfaithful?”
Tears started to run down her face. I felt a flash of anger that she was playing the victim.
“No, no, no!” she shouted. “Only our first meeting, the one in the dress department at Bloomingdale’s—I was on the job then. But I fired Caroline when I found out the truth about her. I guess she’s hired someone else. I’m sorry, John, I should have told you, but it’s unethical. God, listen to me talking about ethics.”
I looked into her eyes searchingly.
“We never met because of fate. I kept on tracking you even after I fired her. I know that sounds so stalkerish and awful. But the awful thing is, today was truly an accidental meeting.” She paused and looked down, dejected. “And now, I’m sure, it’s our last meeting…of any kind.”
I was so nonreactive that she just kept on talking. It was a lot to take in, and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say.
“John, I don’t want to contribute to her false case against you. As of now there isn’t one compromising photo of us—we came out of the theater like two friends who just saw a movie. If I need to, I will testify to the truth—that she’s trying to set you up and that there’s nothing going on between us.”
“The photographer is still watching us?” I asked, finding my voice.
She looked over my shoulder. “Yes, his lens is pointed right at us.”
“Why did you keep tracking me?” I asked her, praying for the words I wanted to hear. “After you fired my wife—Caroline, I mean—why did you keep following me?”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I…like you. I missed you. I tried, but I couldn’t stay away from you.”