I’ve thought far more about marriage in recent months than I ever did before. What is the marriage contract? The general assumption we have about marriage is that it involves two people building a life together. But what I wonder is this: Does it require each person to give up the life they built before? Must we shed our former selves? Do we have to give up that which was once important to us as a sacrifice to the gods of marriage?
For me, the transition into marriage with Alice was nearly seamless. The house, the wedding, our life together, flowed naturally from the life I’d been living before. My education, my job, and the practice I was building would, I knew, provide a fertile support system for this new life. For Alice, I imagine it was different. In the space of a few years, she went from being an independent artist, a single woman who reveled in her freedom, to being an attorney weighed down by responsibility, constrained by a newly inherited set of limitations. Although I often encouraged Alice to hold on to the person she used to be, when I’m honest with myself, I’m not sure I pushed as hard as I could have. Sure, I supported her in the small ways, like creating the garage studio. But when it came to the larger things—like encouraging her to do cameos when musicians asked her to join them in the studio, I never said no, but maybe I sent the wrong signals. “Isn’t that the weekend we’re going to the Russian River?” Or “Aren’t we having dinner with Ian that night?” I would say.
I resolve to walk down the stairs. I move quietly, so as not to distract them. At the bottom, I realize the cavernous garage is pitch-black except for the corner where they’re playing. Alice has her back to me, facing the others, and the drummer and keyboard player seem lost in the music. Eric, though, is facing me, and he sees me. He doesn’t acknowledge me and instead mumbles something to the others. Immediately, the four of them launch into “Police Station,” a Red Hot Chili Peppers song about an on-again, off-again relationship between the narrator and the woman he loves. Eric’s bass line sets the windows rattling.
Alice leans toward him, sharing a microphone, their faces so close they could kiss. She’s still wearing her navy suit and pantyhose, though her shoes are gone and she is jumping up and down, her sweat-soaked hair bouncing. I realize that Eric chose the song as much for me as for Alice.
The verses end, but the music goes on. Eric is no longer looking at me. He is gazing at Alice and, as I quietly move to a better angle, I see that she is gazing at him. She is watching his hands, following the notes. The drummer’s eyes are closed, and the keyboardist gives me a slight nod. Every time the song is about to end, Eric leads it into another refrain. And though I can see exactly what he’s doing, trying to provoke me, I don’t want to be the kind of guy who can’t handle it. I don’t want to be the jealous husband. Alice has told me that one of the things she loves about me is my confidence. It’s important to me to be the man Alice believes I am.
Eventually, the song ends. Alice looks up, surprised to see me, sets down her guitar, beckons me over, and gives me a kiss. I can feel her sweat on my skin. “Fellows, this is Jake,” she announces happily. “Jake, this is Eric, Ryan, and Dario.” Ryan and Dario nod and quickly set about packing their things.
“So this is the guy,” Eric says, looking at Alice, not at me. His hand grips mine painfully. I grip back just as hard. Okay, maybe harder.
He pulls his hand away and turns to hug Alice. “Join us tonight at the show,” he says, not a question, exactly, but a command, and I see how it might have been with them, when she was much younger. How he was the one to make the decisions.
But my Alice isn’t that Alice. “Not tonight. I have a hot date with this guy,” she says, putting her arms around me.
“Ouch,” Eric says.
“News flash,” Ryan says good-naturedly. “Alice is married.”
51
The following day is Alice’s last day with Ron—watching the sunrise, doing squats and push-ups, running up and down the sand dunes at Ocean Beach. She’s up and out of the house before I even realize she has left our warm bed. Surprisingly, she has come to enjoy her time with Ron. She likes the stories of his past boyfriends, she likes following the soap opera of his chaotic life, which seems to be equal parts hardcore sports and hardcore partying. Mostly, though, she likes that he is not, apparently, a part of The Pact. He was hired by Vivian to train Alice, and it is Vivian who pays him weekly—in person, with cash.
Alice has lost seven pounds and developed serious new muscles. Her stomach is hard, her arms defined, her legs lean. Her clothes don’t fit properly anymore, skirts sagging where they used to hug her curves, and one afternoon she asks me to help her carry all her suits out to the car. She’s bringing them to the tailor to be taken in. To me, she seems unnecessarily bony, and her face has lost its softness, reverting to harder edges I never knew were there. For that, I blame The Pact. Still, she seems happy.
She also seems to have worked through her annoyance with Dave; she appears to actually like him now. She has to meet him two more times, and then she’s finished with probation, fully rehabilitated. I think of JoAnne’s crazy stories—the couples who never divorced but ended up married to a better partner. What if Alice is becoming a better person, while I’m just staying the same? What if this is all part of a plan to transform Alice, while leaving me behind? I shake off the thought that someone on high has already decided to make Alice a widow.
52
The month has passed quickly. On the agreed-upon date, I find myself back at the Fourth Street station, waiting for the train to take me down the Peninsula to the Hillsdale mall. I’ve done research—hours and hours of research—but I can’t find any reference to Eli and Elaine, the disappeared couple JoAnne mentioned the last time I saw her. A couple vanishes, leaving only an empty car, yet there are no blog posts, no news articles, no conspiracy theories, no Facebook page devoted to finding them. How is that possible? But then I’m often surprised by which news stories make it big and which ones fail to linger. Still, I begin to wonder if it was all a figment of JoAnne’s imagination.
I never told Alice I’d gone to see JoAnne, and I haven’t told her about this meeting either. I was worried that she might want to come with me, which would get her into trouble if JoAnne lost her grip and started to blab to Neil.