Pam of Babylon (19 page)
Getting off the train in a throng of people, with the fresh air coming down the steps of the station and hitting her in the face, she felt her gorge rising and swung around to a disgusting trash can by the token window, bent over, and threw up the coffee she had drank that evening. A middle-aged woman, someone who might have recognized her in the neighborhood, asked her if she was okay as she handed her a small package of tissues. Sandra thanked her and wiped her face and hands with a tissue and threw it in the can. She rushed up the stairs and hailed a cab as soon as she was able, anxious to get the few short blocks home without getting sick again.
Her apartment was cool and dark. She let herself in and went right to the bathroom, running the water and washing her face in the cold stream, brushing her teeth, and letting the cold water flow over her hands. She turned the water off and grabbed a towel, drying her face and looking in the mirror. The gaunt, pale stranger who stared back at her was a scary apparition.
So this is what you get when you commit adultery
, she thought. The guilt she was feeling was making her sick. She had to purge it soon, that night if possible, by talking to Pam. Whatever Pam wanted, she would do. If Pam was angry about the business, and she had every right to be, she could have it.
She changed into her beloved spandex and T-shirt and went to the kitchen to put on her teakettle. She picked up the phone and saw that Pam had called, as had her sister Sylvia, Bernice, Peter, and a number she didn’t recognize. The urge to flee or hide was strong. She made her tea, got a pen and paper, and sat at the table, looking out at her tree and birdhouse in the lowering light. She picked up the phone and dialed Pam’s number.
P
am drove the car through town, trying to decide if she should just go home or if she should try to stay out a little longer. She was frightened to be home, fear that loneliness after getting the latest news would be the final straw; that she might do something desperate. But there was nothing she needed from store, and she didn’t feel like shopping anyway. She passed a small framing shop, an art gallery, and a gift shop. On a whim, she pulled into a space in front, she got out of the car and walked up to the gift shop. It was full of china knick-knacks.
In spite of her anger and confusion, Pam was unable to think of Jack in negative terms. She wanted to make something for him, a memento of sorts that would hold some of his treasures, the little odds and ends he saved. She browsed the store, looking at what was hanging on the walls, not seeing anything suitable. The shop owner suggested she try the frame shop next door. There, she found the perfect solution—an oak shadow box with tiny cubicles and shelves in it, which would hold all his keepsakes. She wasn’t a creative person, but this box would make it possible for her to put together a tribute to her husband. She paid for it and took the wrapped package back to her car.
Suddenly, she saw her life with clarity. She was still acting from a place of denial. Her body began trembling.
Tribute
. That word opened the floodgates.
My tribute to you Jack!
She started laughing through her tears.
And your tribute to me? Thank you, Jack! Thank you for that wonderful surprise today!
She couldn’t stay there, balling and yelling, so she started up the car and pulled out, heading toward home.
“No wonder he didn’t want to fuck me anymore!” she yelled out loud. “He was too guilty giving his business away, the business that we sacrificed for, that I did without for, that I worked for.” Although it wasn’t exactly true that she did without, Pam did spend her life away from Jack so he could be close to his office. That had been her sacrifice.
She made it home without killing anyone. The key was not going in the door, and she struggled with it, growing in anger and frustration. When the door finally gave way, she dropped her purse in the hallway and slammed the door behind her. She marched into the kitchen and picked up the coffee cup she drank from that morning, and although it had already been washed, she squirted dish detergent into it and scrubbed it with a vengeance. The cleaning ladies had been there, and the house was sparkling; there was nothing for her to do. She was growing in frustration, anger, and confusion.
How did this happen? Where was I when my husband was losing his mind? Giving his business away? Changing our life forever?
She didn’t fully comprehend why him leaving the business to his girlfriend made her angrier than having the girlfriend in the first place. She wished she could go back to the gym and run on the treadmill until she fainted. She didn’t want to think about this anymore.
“Okay,” she said out loud, “pull it together, Pam. What can you do, right now, right this second, to feel better?” She thought for a minute and then said, again out loud, “Have a cup of coffee.”
There, it was something she could do. She pulled the coffee can out of the pantry, grabbed a filter, and walked to the coffee pot. She measured the coffee with a measuring spoon, leveling off exactly the spoonfuls of coffee and dumping them into the filter with precision. She poured the water into the pot and turned it on. She took a deep breath, feeling the tension across her shoulders and neck. When the coffee was finished, she poured a cup. Pam confronted her pain in its entirety. Her life was empty, useless. She didn’t do anything for anybody else. Day after day, she took care of only herself. Jack was a weekend diversion to her week of empty self-serving. After the kids left for college, she should have moved into the city during the week with her husband, taken a class, or looked for a job.
The regrets were overwhelming her. Desperation was building. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, wringing her hands, wondering what she could do to make herself feel better. Finally, the thought entered her head.
If only I could just die
. Killing herself would be too gruesome for her.
Why did Jack have to die? Why couldn’t I have died instead?
She lost track of time, and still standing in the center of her beautiful home, Pam lowered her head and, with a heaving chest, began to sob. Then the phone rang. She turned to pick it up to read the caller ID. It was Sandra Benson. Unbelievably, Pam wanted to talk to her, needed to talk to her. She pressed the talk button.
“Hello.” She couldn’t control the tremor in her voice. Sandra could hear the despair.
Oh, oh
, she thought. She steeled herself.
“Pam. Pam, I spoke with the lawyer today. I had no idea Jack was planning this. And the truth is, I am shocked. If you want the business, and I told this to the attorney, it’s yours. Okay? I know that doesn’t make the fact that Jack did it any better.” Sandra stopped, giving Pam a chance to say something.
“I can’t make any decisions right now, Sandra. But I do appreciate the offer.” Not trusting herself to say anymore, but not wanting to be rude, she asked Sandra how she was doing.
“I’m okay. Besides feeling like I have ruined your life, I guess I am doing pretty well. But I do want to see you, Pam. I know you had planned on having me to the beach this weekend, but I want to see you before that. Do you think you could come into the city tomorrow?” Sandra asked, not sure what her motive was. It was probably just exactly what Pam needed. Jumping at the chance to have something to do, she didn’t question the motive or reason, or what the outcome would be.
“I would love to come to the city. What time can you meet?” Her mood immediately improved. “I can come to you so we will have more time for lunch.” Sandra told her she would be available all day and then asked her if she was okay.
“I am feeling pretty aimless right now. What to do? I have been to the gym, my house is clean, and I’ve been shopping. What’s left?”
Am I feeling the tiniest bit of self-pity?
“Your husband just died, Pam. You should give yourself a break,” Sandra said, feeling her way along unfamiliar territory. “And I don’t want to trivialize what you are going through. Jack used to say that you loved reading on your veranda. He said the views were breathtaking and that he was never happier than when he was sitting out there with you, he with his laptop and you with a good book.” She was out of breath, hoping that she hadn’t overstepped her boundaries. She remembered just a few days before, Marie saying her sister would bury herself in a book while her sister entertained Jack. She wouldn’t repeat it to Pam.
“I do have a stack of novels I got out of the library last week. I tried reading one, but I couldn’t get into it. I’ll try another! Thank you, Sandra!”
They said their goodbyes, Pam cheerful now, her old self.
Maybe I am a simpleton
, she thought. Former sadness forgotten, the change in her demeanor was sudden and swift. Pam went from being despondent to having excited expectation over a day in the city with a friend. However, she didn’t know what was awaiting her. So while Pam sat in her comfortable chair on her beautiful veranda, looking out upon a spectacular ocean and trying in vain to forget her anger and disappointment by reading a book, Sandra prepared to unload a fresh bucket of heartache upon her.
T
he baby was becoming, in the few short days its existence was known, a purpose for living. Sandra still felt sad that Jack was no longer alive, that he would miss this wonderful part of their life together, but she wasn’t lost as she had been, as Pam was. Jack’s death was the end of something bigger than she had known. Pam and Jack and their two children were a beautiful, vital miracle. She was responsible for tainting the loveliness of it, and she had a feeling that if karma were real, she would be making restitution in some way, that her dues had not yet been paid. That realization petrified her. She would pray,
Please, God, don’t make the baby suffer on account of my sins.
“Do not be deceived, God will not be mocked, a man reaps what he sows,” she remembered. But first, she had one more painful revelation to convey. She must tell Pam that Jack was going to be a father again, that Lisa and Brent would be having a baby brother or sister, that she, Pam, would become a stepparent. Sandra needed Pam now, as Pam had seemed to need her. She was her connection to Jack. Together, the two of them and the three children would be responsible for the continuation of Jack.
A few miles north, Marie was walking home from work. She had worked late. The project was there, available for the taking, and God knew she needed the distraction. The good intentions she had a day ago went by the wayside the night before. She was so angry at Pam, at Sandra, at Jack. They had either betrayed her, or dismissed her, or a combination of the two. This journey she was forced to take would be one of stops and starts, two steps forward, one step back, over and over and over.
Coming to terms with what much of her adult relationship with Jack had been was a painful, embarrassing experience. She alone was responsible, she alone in control. If Pam had ever had an inkling of what was going on in her own house, between her sister and her husband, she would have been shocked and furious.
When she was just fifteen, Marie started flirting with Jack. For years she had known him, she spent every weekend, holiday, and summer in his presence. He was her big brother, her beloved brother-in-law. She was spending more and more time with him, doing the things with him that Pam didn’t want to do through lack of interest, or probably because she was exhausted from having two babies close together.
It was innocent enough at first. Marie remembered the first time she had that feeling that she wanted something from Jack that was more intimate, something that was just for her. They were playing tennis, and she was beating him. Game after game they played, he was having an off day, or she was having a fabulous day. But in the last game, she blew it and he won. He was so glad that he was like a small boy, running around the court, jumping up and down, and yelling. She didn’t care that she didn’t win and was amazed at his childish behavior, shaking her head and smiling at him.
Then he hopped over the net and picked her up in his arms, swinging her around, yelling, “Did you let me win? I won that for real, right?” Nuzzling her neck, and then putting her down, still laughing and out of breath, he kissed her right smack on the lips. He put his arm around her shoulder as they walked across the park, and Marie noticed people looking at them, the handsome, fit young man and his younger partner, both in gleaming tennis clothes, rackets swung over their shoulders, looking like the elegante’ of the Upper West Side.
If they had been a real couple, they would have gone back to their apartment, taken a shower together, and made love. In the real world, however, the apartment was inhabited by a mother and her two children, who were all napping. Jack changed his clothes and went into their tiny den, turning on the TV to watch the news. Marie took a shower, and when she was done, instead of getting dressed, she put on a robe and went into the den where Jack sat. She walked in front of him and opened her robe. He, totally taken by surprise, looked up at her face first, shocked, and then he looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, and then, starting at her breasts, he looked down, down, and when he came to her privates, he reached forward and touched her there. She became a little weak in the knees and opened her legs slightly, but he had come to his senses.
