Falling in Love (13 page)

When I went to see Elaine on Saturday, she was still a mess. “I’m afraid to leave the building,” she said, “out of fear that I might meet them. Then what would I do?” I certainly didn’t know but Elaine wasn’t really asking my advice. “I’ve been on the phone with Gregory all morning. We’ve decided that I want them to know that I know.” She looked at me. “Will you come with me?”

I couldn’t believe it. “We’re going to go knock on her door?”

Elaine laughed for the first time in a week. “Not exactly. I don’t have that much courage. Come on.” She led me outside to a cab. “He’ll be at the Boathouse. It’s his favorite for a weekend brunch.”

We got out at Fifth Avenue and strolled into Central Park. The day was warm and breezy and seemed so incongruous with our secret mission of exposing adultery. Elaine slowly circled the lake until she motioned to a smart-looking couple on the outside deck. A slim but elegant-looking man with thinning gray hair, Hal was wearing a Navy blue blazer, an open white shirt and khaki trousers. Despite his rather stern expression, he must have said something funny because Yvonne, a frail blonde in a white summer dress, laughed lightly.

Elaine angled near them, telling me to keep my eyes on them until I was sure they had spotted her. Suddenly, Yvonne stopped smiling midsentence and began whispering to Hal as we started to amble around the lake. “He knows that my being here isn’t a coincidence.” Elaine began to shake. “God, at my age, I’m still playing high school games.”

We walked around the park for awhile, passing some soccer fields that seemed to host a women’s league. Several spectators cheered the teams and there seemed to be a lot of young girls watching a couple of the teams. I turned away. Despite my love for soccer, it was painful for me to even watch it.

Elaine was afraid to go home. She wanted to see Gregory but he was picking up some things in his newly-vacated apartment so we met him there. The apartment turned out to be a small but lovely one-bed room overlooking a tree-lined West Village street. It had exposed brick walls, a fireplace and beautiful furniture including a big brass bed.

“I suppose I should give it up,” Gregory admitted, “but I’m just not ready to do that yet. But I haven’t found anyone I really trust.”

Elaine asked, “What about Sherry?”

He turned to me. “How long were you planning to stay in New York?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” I wasn’t really sure how soon I would really be ready to face my mother, even if I knew where she was. I was getting claustrophobic in my tiny room and this apartment was even cheaper. But if something went wrong and I had to leave quickly, I didn’t want Gregory to lose the apartment because of me. Finally, I said, “I could probably stay six months. Maybe longer.”

“I’d like a year.”

A cat casually sauntered out of the bedroom. It was entirely white with two splotches of black around its eyes so that it looked like it was wearing a mask. The cat rubbed against Gregory’s leg and Gregory picked it up. “This is Robie. He comes with the apartment.” Gregory would pay for Robie’s food and any vet bills. He didn’t need a litter box because he went out the window and down the fire escape to one of several neighbors’ gardens. “Would you be okay with him?”

I looked at Robie purring as Gregory rubbed his chin. I had always wanted a pet and I had never had a place of my own. Suddenly, I wanted to be with Robie, to have my own apartment, even if it was illegal and short-term. “I can stay a year,” I said. I wasn’t going to run away again. I was determined that I was going to make this work.

I went over to pet Robie but he shot out a claw and almost scratched my hand. “He was a rescue,” said Gregory, “and is truly a New York cat. He won’t come near you until he trusts you and then he will be your best friend forever. But he won’t until he thinks you’re okay.”

“How long does that take?” I asked.

“He’s different with everyone but it’s usually a while.” He set Robie down. “I still have to work it out with the super. But I think he’ll be okay. When can you move in?”

My weekly rent started on Sunday. “Tonight.”

He handed me the keys. “The phone and utilities are in my name but the bills come here and you just pay them and deduct the cat food from the rent. Deal?” I nodded. Gregory handed me a card with his number on it. “If you have any problems, call me.”

After I moved my suitcase’s worth of worldly goods into my new home, I decided to take a long luxurious hot shower. But when I turned the handle, all hell broke loose and water started shooting everywhere. I turned every knob I found and finally managed to get the water shut off. Then I informed Gregory of the bad news. “I’ll call the Super,” he said. “Do you have ten dollars on you?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to him when he’s done.”

Ten minutes later, my bell rang and in came a short, chubby man with thick, hairy arms and a balding head. He was lugging a large battered tool box.

“I’m Paully,” he said. “You’re the new cousin, huh?” he asked sarcastically.

I didn’t know how to reply, unsure of what Gregory might have told him about me. “I guess so,” I said.

My tentativeness disarmed him. He replied, “Don’t worry. Who’s in here ain’t my business and I’m not making it my business.” With that he shuffled off to the bathroom and came out twenty minutes later, wiping his hands on a very soiled cloth. The toolbox was slung over his shoulder.

“Next time something happens, you ain’t got to call Greg.” He glanced into the kitchen and nodded. “My number’s still on the refrigerator. Paully.” I held out my hand, holding the ten dollar bill. He took it. “Thanks.”

After he left, I called Gregory. “Did he take the ten?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. If he thinks you are going to be trouble, he won’t take it. Then he can be a problem,” Gregory said. “It’s good this happened right away. Now you’re in.”

After a long and very luxurious hot shower, I collapsed onto the brass bed.

The next week, I worked at a busy midtown law firm that specialized in commercial real estate. Tina, another young temp who sat next to me, was a pretty, vibrant Hispanic girl. She was incredibly proficient and helped me out more times that I cared to remember. She also turned me onto a wonderful pocket park off of Fifth Avenue with ivy-covered stone walls on each side and a huge waterfall covering the back wall. We ate deli sandwiches there every day. Tina also wanted to show me some great bars after work. Instead I went home and read a mystery novel or watched TV. I loved having my own space and I didn’t want to jeopardize it. Just one night of getting blasted and bringing home some loud drunk who made a scene could end it all. Starved for tenderness, every night I tried to cuddle Robie but he always avoided me, curled up on the bed when I was on the sofa and vice versa.

On Friday both our assignments ended and instead of asking me to join her for a drink, Tina wanted to rush back to Brooklyn to get ready for her big night out. We both squeezed onto the 6th Avenue subway barely able to talk, or breathe, until it aired out at 34th Street and we sat down. Tina was excited about a hot new Tribeca club. One of the bouncers was from her old Bronx neighborhood and he had promised to get her and a friend in.

“You should come, too,” Tina advised. “Just wear a short skirt and low top and you’ll not only get in, you won’t have to buy a drink all night.”

The prospect of unlimited drinks conjured up several disasters in my mind. “Thanks but no thanks,” I said. “I’m meeting a friend.” I hadn’t seen Elaine since Sunday and I wanted to see how well she was holding up.

“Bring her along,” Tina urged. Then she smiled wickedly. “Is it a guy?” I shook my head. “So both of you come. It’s not a Latin club, you know. There’ll be all kinds of guys there.”

After her being so helpful to me all week, I felt sad that she thought I wouldn’t go out with her because she was Hispanic. Although uncomfortable with telling Tina about my addiction, I finally confided, “I’m afraid I’ll end up in some guy’s bed.”

Tina laughed. “Hey, that’s the whole point!”

“Not for me,” I said, uneasily. “I have an addiction.”

“To sex?” Tina exclaimed loudly enough for several commuters around us to hear. “Don’t we all?”

I moved closer to her so I could whisper. “No. I mean it.” My whisper was almost a plea. “I can’t control myself. I really am a sex addict.”

Her eyes brightened. “You’re really a sex addict? That is so cool,” she exclaimed loudly. “So you get laid every night?”

People were beginning to stare at us, especially two young guys standing near us. They looked hungrily at me. I felt completely humiliated that my darkest secret had become subway banter. I tried again. “No,” I whispered even softer. “I try desperately not to have sex.”

Tina stared incredulously at me. “Are you crazy? That would be so great! Man, if I was a sex addict, I’d just enjoy it!”

The subway pulled into the West 4th St. station. “This is my stop,” I said. “Bye.”

As I rushed out of the car, tears began streaking down my cheeks. I furtively glanced behind me but fortunately the two guys with the hungry eyes were now hovering over Tina. My body shook as I raced home, constantly glancing behind me. When I arrived at the apartment, I crumpled myself on the bed mortified and stained my pillow with tears for the next hour.

I painstakingly pulled myself together and walked over to St. Augustine’s. For the first time I really felt like I needed group, the support. I tried to think of how I could have somehow convinced Tina the horrible reality of being a sex addict and decided that I never could have. I realized why the groups were called “anonymous.” I vowed to never again reveal to anyone outside of group that I was a sex addict.

As I rounded a corner, I saw the pretty blonde from group crossing the street toward the church. She fell in step with me and smiled. “Hi, you know Elaine, right?” The simplest reply was to just nod. She offered, “I’m Claire.” She had a killer smile.

“Sherry.”

Outside the church, two women commented on how lovely Claire looked. She turned to me. “You know you’re in trouble when you’re wearing an old T-shirt and jeans and someone says you look lovely. It’s the first time in a month that they haven’t seen me with puffy eyes.”

“That’s great,” I said, recalling that she had sobbed entirely through my first meeting.

She shrugged. “Yesterday, my tear ducts were working overtime.”

At group, we were approached by a beautiful, elegant woman who was dressed like she had just stepped off the cover of
Vogue
Magazine. “I’m proud of you, Claire,” she said, hugging her. “You just have to keep on keeping on.” Then she added, “You didn’t call me last night.”

“My cell phone was dead and I didn’t realize it until it seemed too late to call. I was just reading a book at the shelter,” Claire insisted.

The woman didn’t look convinced. She greeted me politely and then walked away. “Oops,” whispered Claire. “Katherine is my sponsor and she considers lying the first step in a slip. She probably wouldn’t approve of where I was last night even though it was perfect for me, somewhere I can’t possibly act out.”

“Heaven?” I laughed.

“For me.”

Elaine was huddled with Gregory. When I asked how she was doing, she sighed that Hal was again spending the weekend in “Buffalo.”

Gregory hugged Claire and said, “Congratulations.” Claire shot her devastating smile at him. I sat between Elaine and Claire and asked, “Is there something I should be congratulating you about?”

Claire confided, “I broke up with all three of my ‘boyfriends’ this week.” I thought that first I possibly should have congratulated her on having three boyfriends, since no one else I ever heard of seemed to have managed it but then I realized that, of course, something had to be wrong. “They really weren’t boyfriends,” Claire admitted, as if reading my mind. “Just bad fantasies.”

I listened to the Serenity Prayer and others sharing their stories. The more I heard the more realized how much I belonged there. These people were the only ones who understood, and shared, the pain and humiliation I felt when I acted out.

Afterward, as we headed for the Shamrock, Claire walked in the opposite direction. “Are you going to your secret place?” I asked.

She nodded and gave me a wicked smile. “Want to try it?”

Despite that smile, or maybe because of it, I hesitated. Even though Claire said she couldn’t act out there it didn’t mean that I couldn’t! But the Shamrock didn’t appeal to me either. The group members were mostly older and talked about broken marriages. At least Claire was my age, and where else was I going to find some ‘perfect’ place. “Sure,” I shrugged. “Why not?”

Before I took a step, Elaine called back, “Sherry, call me when you get home.”

In a childish voice, I answered, “Yes, Auntie Elaine.”

Katherine chimed in, “Claire, call me.”

Claire giggled. “Yes, Auntie Katherine.”

We laughed our way up the street.

I had suspected that Katherine was another rich housewife like Elaine. Claire said that she was actually the opposite, an unwed mother and an addict at seventeen, she had gotten herself sober and then parlayed grants and scholarships into a Ph.D. in Psychology. She now had a thriving practice and often appeared on TV.