“I guess we’ll find out.”
Looking back on that night, it strikes me that we were both a little scared, but not nearly as cautious as we should have been. The Pact had the mysterious draw of those things that both repulse and attract you at the same time. Like a sound in the garage in the middle of the night, or a romantic overture from someone you know you ought to stay away from, or a strange, shining light you follow deep into the woods, not knowing where it will lead, or what kind of danger awaits you there. We were both drawn to it, despite reason. It had a strong, inexplicable magnetic pull, which we were unable, or unwilling, to resist.
26
There’s a lot of data about what predicts a good marriage. While statistics are open to interpretation, one of the conclusions that researchers across the board agree on is this: The higher your income, the more likely you are to get married. More important, the higher your income, the more likely you are to stay married. On a side note, while you might expect that the amount a couple spends on their wedding is directly proportionate to their chances of a successful marriage, in fact, the opposite is true: Those who spend less than five thousand dollars are far more likely to stay married than those who spend more than fifty thousand.
When I shared this information with my partners, Evelyn speculated that it had to do with expectations: Someone who’s willing to blow fifty grand on a wedding is someone who wants everything to be perfect, and when marriage turns out to be less than perfect, the letdown is greater. “It also shows a preference for short-term satisfaction and impressing others over long-term stability,” she said.
Ian agreed. “Let’s say you put that extra forty-five grand toward a house instead of a wedding. You’ve given yourself a leg up. You’ve made an investment in your future. I don’t mean to sound sexist, but I think women run the show when it comes to weddings. And a bride who needs a fifty-thousand-dollar wedding, with a hairdresser and a wedding planner and a five-course meal and all the rest, is probably high-maintenance.”
I thought of our own low-key wedding, where the food was nothing to write home about, but everyone was drinking, everyone was having fun. Alice’s dress looked amazing on her, though it was off the rack from a little vintage shop, because she refused to spend more than four hundred dollars on a dress she would only wear once. She bought her shoes half off at Macy’s, because, she said, “how often am I going to wear white satin shoes?” My own suit was expensive, but that was because I wear my suits for years, and Alice had insisted that I invest in a good one.
Other interesting statistics: Those who date for more than a year or two before getting married are less likely to divorce. The older people are on the date of their wedding, the better their chances for success. And here’s one that seems to defy intuition: Individuals who start dating their spouses when they are entangled in another relationship are not more likely to eventually divorce; in fact, the opposite is true. “Because they made an active choice,” Evelyn speculated. “They had one thing, and they found something better, so maybe they’re grateful to the spouse for showing up at just the right time, rescuing them from the wrong decision. Also, the spouse, in that case, feels chosen. The spouse knows that their husband or wife gave up someone else to be with them.” I liked that logic and made a note to bring it up in my next meeting with Bella and Winston. “Bella chose you,” I would tell him. I hoped it would help.
All the research I was doing made me feel pretty good about my own marriage. Given the price of our wedding, combined with the fact that Alice and I lived together before marriage and were both older when we wed—Alice thirty-four, me inching up on forty—plus her entanglement with her old bandmate when we met—statistics would say that Alice and I are pretty solid. In the end, though, every marriage is unique. Every marriage is its own universe, operating by its own intricate set of rules.
27
The only time we really talked about The Pact over the next few weeks was on Thursdays, after Alice made her weekly visit to her probation officer. Dave was a structural engineer with an office in the Mission. He was in his midforties, Alice guessed, moderately intelligent, mildly attractive. We had met him and his wife at the Hillsborough party, Alice insisted, although I didn’t remember them. She was a little artsy, Alice said, although in a trust fund sort of way. She had a separate studio in Marin and had participated in a couple of local joint shows, but she didn’t appear to have any need or desire to sell her work.
On Thursdays, Alice would slip out of work early, take BART over to Twenty-fourth and Mission, and then walk the long blocks to Dave’s office for their appointment. She always gave it plenty of time she didn’t have, so as not to be late. My conversation with JoAnne had made her extra-vigilant. She usually arrived early to the block where Dave’s modern office sat tucked beside a taqueria.
Alice’s visits with Dave only lasted for half an hour. She didn’t reveal the specific details because Dave had told her that was “strictly against the rules,” though she did say the meetings usually consisted of the two of them sitting at his design table, drinking Philz coffee brought in by his secretary, talking about their weeks. Dave would pepper the conversation with a few direct questions about me and our marriage. He sometimes used lingo from The Manual, things one wouldn’t ordinarily say in normal conversation, the result being that Alice was always acutely aware that she was in unknown territory. The conversations were pleasant, she insisted, but the questions were direct enough that she never felt entirely comfortable, nor did she feel relaxed enough to accidentally reveal any detail that might be used against us.