Four Seasons of Romance (19 page)

As happy as Catherine was to have her children home for the
holidays, she still thought of Leo and waited for the day she could visit him
again. Although her family filled her with pride and affection, she longed for
the abandon she felt only in Leo’s presence, the unbridled joy that reminded
her how much was missing in her marriage… and how much she had sacrificed.

Finally, January arrived. The children packed their
Christmas presents, kissed their parents good-bye, and set out back to school.
Over breakfast, Walter asked his wife how her philanthropic endeavors were
turning out. “I assume the charity work is going well.”

Catherine could tell from his tone that he didn’t much care.
“Oh, yes, I can’t wait to get back to it.”

That much was true, as she had plans to go to Baltimore that
very day. With a heady sense of exhilaration, Catherine resumed her commute for
love. 

But when she arrived at Leo’s apartment, it had grown
shockingly dirty in just a few weeks’ time. Food was caked on old plates,
wineglasses stained purple with tannin residue, and clothes wadded on the
floor. A cavalcade of roaches made a beeline from the bathroom into the
kitchen. She realized Leo probably hadn’t cleaned the place since the day they
made love.

Couldn’t he make an effort to keep it more organized?
As much as Catherine didn’t want to admit it, the things Walter had said years
ago were still true. Leo was broke, despite being employed at the head shop,
didn’t own a car, and even though he said all the right things, he didn’t
follow through.

She tried to tell herself the changes in his physical
appearance didn’t matter, but she missed the old Leo of yesteryear, and it
wasn’t just the physical aspect, as he still was very attractive. Instead, it
had to do with the lack of care for his health and responsibilities. He still
drank, heavily at times, but now also ate junk food daily. Although his
haphazard lifestyle had seemed alluring in their twenties, in their fifties, it
seemed sad and nothing more.

But Leo’s reunion with Catherine gave him a lift, just as
racing cars used to do. It allowed him to focus on something—or this time,
someone—he was passionate about. Catherine’s dissatisfaction with his lifestyle
was palpable, so Leo set about making changes, cleaning his apartment, shaving
his beard, and cutting his hair. She bought him new clothes and a book on how
to eat more sensibly, and for the first time in life, he learned to cook,
testing new recipes on her when she came to visit. 

But they never talked about her family situation or their
plans—each was afraid of ruining their little dream again and having to face
the reality of their situation. One day in January, Leo cleaned out all the
wine and liquor from his apartment and put it in a big garbage bag at the front
door.

“I don’t need it anymore,” he explained. “I need only you.”
Yet, through all this time, she sensed a brooding darkness linger inside him,
as he would, at times, distance himself and settle in the dark corner with his
glass, silent and withdrawn. Catherine learned just to leave him to himself,
and usually, he’d come out of it by the end of the day, but sometimes, it took
longer.

Eventually, they talked about their situation, Catherine
mentioning she couldn’t leave Walter because of the kids. Besides, she had the
freedom to drive to Baltimore five days a week if she so chose. They could walk
around the city, but often, they stayed in Leo’s apartment, talking, holding
each other, or making love, confident that they could carry on like this
forever.

Catherine drove to Baltimore three to five times a week
throughout the winter. But in April, things began to change. Horseracing season
started in Baltimore, and Leo was a regular at
Pimlico
Racetrack. Racing took place four days a week, Thursday through Sunday, and Leo
went each day, shifting his work schedule to accommodate the gambling habit,
meaning Catherine had less time with him. And when racing was on, she saw him
for a shorter period unless she wanted to join him at the track. 

Occasionally, she would go to the races with him, but it
only upset her. She could tell most people there didn’t have the money to spend
on gambling, but did, anyway. Catherine couldn’t help wondering: How many times
did their children go hungry because of their parents’ addiction? The thought
alone made her sick.

It didn’t take her long to acknowledge what was happening.
Leo had a gambling problem. He spoke openly about his bookie as if he were his
best friend. Although he saw the track as a hobby, Catherine saw it as another
of his many addictions, and although he might have made a show of staying sober
at home, he still drank elsewhere.

As spring turned into summer,
Pimlico
closed for the season. Catherine was relieved until Leo began to take
occasional daylong bus trips to other horse tracks. She had given him a
calendar to hang on his wall to mark the days they could be together, and one
day, she noticed dozens of red stars on the fall months.

“What are these?” she asked.

“That’s the fall season at Laurel,” he said.

“What’s Laurel?”

“A racecourse down the road.”

Catherine was crestfallen. Leo’s habit symbolized all the
behavior she had tried to break him of. She was trying to set him straight, but
her love, obviously, wasn’t enough.

Worst, Catherine suspected that Leo had someone on the side
for the days she was gone. Indeed, once he moved to Baltimore, Leo had gotten
in the habit of using several young prostitutes who frequented his area.
Catherine found out about it in the most unpleasant of ways.

One Friday in June, Walter told her he’d be going on a
business trip for the weekend.

“It’s last minute,” he said. “But I leave tonight. I hope
you’ll be all right for a few days.”

Better than all right
, Catherine thought. With a
light heart, she readied herself to spend the whole weekend with Leo, the first
full weekend they’d spent together in more than twenty years.

She waited until that evening to head to Baltimore, giving
Walter time to come home after work and pack his suitcase. When she felt sure
the coast was clear, she hastily packed a bag—including lace lingerie Walter
hadn’t noticed in decades—climbed in the car, and made her way across the state
lines.

It was nearly ten o’clock when she arrived at Leo’s
apartment to surprise him. Catherine found a key under a flowerpot on the
porch—her key. Excited, she dropped it twice before getting it in the lock.

The door swung open. Leo’s apartment was dark, but she had
the distinct impression he was not alone.

“Hello? Leo?” She heard a thud and then a woman whisper.

“Cat?”

She flipped on the overhead light. To her dismay, Leo was
wrapped in sheets along with a younger woman. And, judging from her thick
makeup and the height of the heels discarded beside the bed, she was a woman of
the night.

Leo ordered the prostitute to leave instantly, which she was
happy to do after being paid. Then, he made a cup of tea for himself and for
Catherine. They sat side by side, both of them silent.

“Why do you do it?” she finally asked.

“It’s just something I need,” he admitted. “When you’re not
here, I get lonely.”

She nodded, trying to understand.
“How
often?”

“Once or twice a week.”

“So, this is what you do at night, when I’ve gone back to
Philadelphia.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whores,” she said. “We have something, and this is what you
do when I’m away. God knows the places these women have been! You sleep with
them and then you sleep with me? Are you out of your mind?”

Leo grimaced. “I’ll give them up; I swear,” he said. “If
that’s what you what, I’ll do it for you.”

Catherine set her mouth in a hard line. “That’s what I want.
Or I will never return.”

She stayed the rest of the weekend, but they barely talked
as Catherine had the sense that if she weren’t there, Leo would be spending his
time very differently—out drinking, betting on the races, and probably with a
prostitute or two. As their relationship was typically a weekday, daytime
affair, Catherine felt helpless to prevent him from indulging his vices when
she wasn’t there to stop him.

Leo, on the other hand, had grown used to living his life
the way he wanted to, however much debauchery it involved. With Catherine’s
daytime visits and his nights and weekends free, he could enjoy time with his
true love, but not have to give up the salacious icing.

“If you move in with me,” he told her, “I swear I’ll stop
doing all the things you hate. I won’t need to do them.
You’ll
be here.”

Catherine’s kids came and went more often as summer
progressed, and they would suspect something if she weren’t home, which meant
she could not get away to Baltimore as much as she would have liked. The fabric
of the affair was unraveling quickly, though neither Catherine nor Leo wanted
to admit it, but even as they felt themselves on shaky ground, both of them
stayed determined to hold on.

When Walter took his annual four weeks of vacation in
August, Catherine and Leo didn’t see each other once. She counted the days
until September to resume her daily trips to Baltimore.

The first Monday Walter went back to
work,
Catherine dressed with equal parts excitement and trepidation. She feared that
Leo was in a different place than he’d been in July, and when she arrived in
Baltimore, her fears were confirmed.

When she came inside the apartment, she discovered he’d put
on weight and not shaved once, his beard scraggly and streaked with gray. He’d
been smoking pot again—she could smell it—and his eyes were glassy; he hardly
acknowledged her when she came in.

“Leo,” she said.
“Oh, Leo.”
She
turned to the dusty window, holding back tears.

“Catherine?” he asked.

“It pains me to see you this way,” she said. “You’re
self-destructing. This is why I left last time.”

“What?” he
sneered.
“Like you even care.”

Catherine ended up leaving early, and the next time she
returned, Leo felt better, and yet his dark moods became more frequent and more
intense.

One afternoon in early October, she arrived to find Leo
again drunk, sitting on his floor, a bottle of bourbon in hand, staring at the
blank wall. Carefully, she pried the bottle from his fingers, set it on the
countertop, and then sat beside him.

“Tell me… why
do you
stay with
Walter?” he asked after a pause.

This is the first time he referred to him by name since they
met again. “Sometimes, I don’t know, either,” she said.

“Do you love him?”

Catherine knew she had felt something toward Walter in the
past, though now, the love she’d felt for him had never been the same kind she
shared with Leo. “No,” she answered, “I don’t love him. Not like that.”

“Then, why?” Leo’s eyes were red and watery, and his hand
trembled as he gripped the bottle in his hand.

“Because of my children whom I adore.
Because I have a marriage to maintain.
Because we have a standing in the community…
” She stopped.
These reasons had never held any weight for Leo, who didn’t care about marriage
or community. But she believed those things, obligated to honor her commitment,
not just for Walter, but also for her children’s sake.

Leo swiped at the bottle of bourbon on the counter, and it
skidded across the slick surface, teetering on the edge. Catherine reached out
her hand to catch it moments before it fell, but not in time to keep it from
spilling half its contents on the floor.

“You never really loved me, did you?” he asked, his voice
dripping in drunken accusation.

“Leo…”

“You never did. You never committed to me. Something always
held you back.”

“Please, don’t start,” she begged him.

“You used me, didn’t you?”

“Leo, I cared about you, but it was just too much.
The drinking, the women, the instability.
What did you want
me to do, stay around and tolerate the madness your life was? And the nightmare
it has become?”

“My life might be a nightmare,” he said, getting up and
stumbling toward her. “But my conscience is clear. And let’s be honest,
Catherine. You only wanted me when it was convenient for you, when you could
have a little poetic fling with me and then run off to your reliable fiancé.
You used me just as you’ve used him. And when it was convenient, you threw me
out. Is that what you did, Catherine?”

Catherine shook her head, but she felt more and more tears
welling in her eyes.

“You used me, and you know it, which is why you’re crying
silently now! And I know why you’re acting as if you’re my mother—you feel
guilty about what you did because you knew it was wrong. Because you knew you
chickened out and sold me out for a bank account and a historic mansion.
A lie.
That’s what it is.
A lie.
Your marriage, your whole life with that man is nothing but a lie!”

“Leo, stop.” Catherine choked on the words and could barely
see straight as tears kept streaming down her face.

“Isn’t that what you did, Catherine? Answer the goddamn
question!” he yelled, grabbing the bottle and throwing it against the wall. It
shattered into pieces as he stood there, his wild eyes transfixed on her.

Catherine stood and, dazed, walked toward the door, her
hands covering her face.

 “Yeah, go back to your good husband,” Leo growled.
“Abandon and betray me just as you did years ago. Leave me to my booze and
whores! It
ain’t
pretty, but at least it’s honest,
and that’s more than I can say about you.”