I don’t even begin to do the obvious, to tell him he isn’t worthless and other responses too uncomfortable to get into. I just continue.
“I want to really illustrate to him the stuff that goes on, to explain what it’s like for women who work there. He’s been in an office and not on the trading floor for so long he can’t fully understand it. I have suggestions for him too. I mean, he may not welcome them, but what if he does? Senior management adores him and they’ll take his advice. What if it turns into a really fruitful meeting? I’m sticking my neck out here and, well, you know there’ll be repercussions.”
Bruce is silent for a moment. “Did you just use the word fruitful?”
“What? Oh yeah, I guess.”
“That’s so dorky.” He smiles.
“It is. I’m a dork. The word fruitful suits me. I mean, look at me, I’m wearing oven mitts.”
Bruce is quiet as he strokes my naked hip up and down, over and over. He seems fixated on a mole I have at the place where my leg dips toward the groin. After he tenderly removes my oven mitts, he pushes some hair from my face and speaks.
“Belle, there have been times recently where I don’t know who I married anymore. In a sea of suits, you shone like some effervescent angel and I’m not some guy who believes in love at first sight but man, you were ethereal.”
He hasn’t spoken so gently to me in a very long time. I know I should say something equally flattering back but I don’t. I also know that whatever is coming next won’t be so nice. It’s going to be something about how I’ve changed, something about how unhappy he is with me, or about how I stink as a mother and that if it weren’t for him our kids would be in social services. As a rule of business, now would be the time to nip a conversation heading toward the negative and take it over. But I don’t want to be Ms. Managing Director right now, I don’t want to be Henry’s virtual lover right now either, I want to be Bruce’s wife.
“I cheered for you as you climbed the ladder in that mad place you work,” Bruce said. “I listened to some of the stories and tried not to be judgmental. Baby, I’d be lying to you if I didn’t admit you make our mortgage payments easy to swallow and our kids couldn’t go to their great schools if we didn’t have your income. The emasculation is one thing and I’m fine with that now.”
Bruce is still looking at my freckled thigh, still stroking away at me. He suddenly smacks his fabulous six-pack abdominals and I notice everything is so solid there. My husband’s been working out and dieting and I haven’t even noticed.
“I can handle that, I’m a semi-solid guy,” he says. “But the lifestyle?” He turns his deep-green eyes to look right into mine. “We aren’t living large here, Belle. You never see the kids, you never see me—like this, that is.” He pulls the covers down to reveal all of him, making his point funny, and yet not so funny. “You know I support you in whatever it is you’re really about to do. Even if it costs us this lifestyle, ’cause honestly, babe, you can’t tell me this is all that great. Whatever it is you want to say in that meeting, you say it.”
I can’t resist him. Even though I’m tired and my dinner is about to become undone. I cannot resist my husband in the late-afternoon sun on our big white bed with the almost clean sheets when I know his love for me is hanging by a thread and I know I still can turn so many things around. In his own Bruce-like way, he is saying, “Yes.”
CHAPTER 25
Tribal Knowledge
THE ELEVATOR lifts me to the executive dining room and my calm grows with each passing floor. I’ve rehearsed what I want to say, so there’s nothing left to do except play it through. To hold on to my resolve, I’ve left unopened every message from Henry and I’ve made Stone or Kathryn return every phone call to him. If Henry knew what I’m about to do, he’d talk me out of it.
I enter an intimate side room off the executive dining room. This room has a nasty reputation and another name, the BJ Ballroom, because it offers the perfect amount of discretion for afternoon delights that don’t include food.
There’s a round table with twelve silver place settings, starched white linens, and a simple flower arrangement in the middle. The windows are covered with a gauzy material that allows the presence of daylight to be hinted at. Gruss’s place is set with a silver cigar cutter, a cigar, and an ashtray in the place where a soup spoon should be. I go to the seat next to his to ensure I get access to the guy.
A woman is already standing in the room, ready to greet Gruss’s guests. It’s Blythe Quidel, one of Feagin Dixon’s legal counsel, and technically the last word on all things human resourcey. When she sees where I’m about to sit, she raises one bleached eyebrow in curiosity.
“Oh, is this assigned seating?” I say to the question on her face.