The Affair (14 page)

“I
was thinking,” Kathy said suddenly.

“Always dangerous . . .” he quipped. He hit the switch on the electric toothbrush as his wife began to speak.

“You’ve been working so hard lately. . . .”

She stopped talking, and he caught the flash of annoyance on her face in the mirror.

“I can still hear you,” he said through a mouthful of toothpaste, but she went back to her magazine. He’d spoken to her a dozen times about the amount of money she spent on magazine subscriptions. Eventually, he’d simply stopped talking about it, because the argument went nowhere and she retaliated by throwing every expense she could think of in his face. When he’d had his teeth done, she’d given him hell about it for weeks. He turned off the toothbrush, and Kathy started immediately.

“I’ve been thinking, you’ve been working so hard lately, I’ve barely seen you. We should try to have a date night.”

“Good idea. Great idea,” he said automatically. And it was. With Maureen gone and the temp not knowing her way around the office, plus the scramble for new work, combined with the craziness of Christmas, he had been working longer and later recently. He hadn’t seen a whole lot of his wife, and their encounters lately tended to be brief and chilly. He remembered when they had first started dating, how they would save their money to go skating on Frog Pond on Boston Common. They would skate until their faces were bright red from the cold, and then they’d have hot chocolate and talk for hours. There always seemed to be time then. Lately, time had started to gain a chokehold on him and he couldn’t breathe, let alone find the time for frivolities. Perhaps, after Christmas, when things had settled down, he’d take her out for a nice meal, maybe even talk to her about the situation with the business, try and convince her to cut down a little on her spending. He turned on the faucet and splashed some water on his face. Just as he was reaching for a towel, she started again.

“What about tomorrow?”

He walked toward Kathy, toweling off his wet face. “I can’t. Not tomorrow night. I’m entertaining a client. Christmas drinks and some dinner.”

“You never said.”

“I’m sure I did.” He frowned. He had told her, hadn’t he? But he’d had so much on his mind recently. Had he told her? The biggest problem with having an affair was juggling the lies. He thought he had done a good job, but he had been so tired lately that one little lie was bound to slip through a crack.

“I’d have remembered.”

Robert shrugged and turned to toss the towel back into the bathroom. It missed the rail and slid to the floor.

“Who are you meeting tomorrow?”

“Jimmy Moran,” Robert said. “We’re having dinner and drinks at Top of the Hub.” He threw back the covers and slipped into the bed, then jumped with the chill of the sheets. “You didn’t turn on the blanket,” he said, almost accusingly. He loved sliding under his electric blanket at night and liked it on the highest setting. He was annoyed, though not entirely surprised that Kathy hadn’t made the effort to turn it on. It was one of those small, seemingly insignificant thoughtful gestures that she had stopped doing for him. They used to be second nature to her, and he’d only noticed them when they’d stopped.

“I didn’t think it was that cold.” She tossed the magazine onto the floor and slid down in the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

Robert turned on the blanket and glanced sidelong at her. “Aren’t you going to read?”

“No.” She reached up and turned off the light over her side of the bed.

“Well, I’ll read for a bit, if you don’t mind.” He reached down to the side of the bed and lifted up the book he’d been reading on and off for the past two months,
The Road Less Traveled
by M. Scott Peck. Despite Stephanie’s recommendation, he simply couldn’t get into it and managed less than a page a night. She was always reading self-help and self-improvement books. He’d enjoyed her last recommendation, the
Chicken Soup for the Soul
series. He had loved the little stories that revealed the essential goodness of man. He had bought one for Kathy—
Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul
—thinking she’d enjoy it. It was on the floor, close to the bottom of the pile of paperbacks, still unread.

“When do you think we’ll have a chance to get a night out?” Kathy’s voice was muffled, coming from beneath the covers.

Next week was Christmas week; the whole idea was too ridiculous for words, but it just went to show how out of touch she was. Robert bit his tongue, taking a moment to work out how to phrase his response properly, determined to fall asleep without a major argument. “I think we should wait until after Christmas,” he suggested. “It’s a nightmare trying to find a place to eat, and parking is impossible.” He attempted a laugh. “All the restaurants in the city are full of people like me, treating clients like Jimmy to too much wine.” Robert dropped
The Road Less Traveled
—The Book Never Read in his case—to the floor, and turned the light off. “After Christmas, we’ll find a little time. Maybe even head out to the Cape for the weekend. Or Martha’s Vineyard. What do you think?”

“That would be nice,” Kathy mumbled, but she didn’t sound too enthusiastic about it.

Robert lay in the darkness, listening to the house settle and creak around them. A house alarm was wailing in the far distance, the sound like an animal cry, while closer to home, a drunken voice was butchering “White Christmas.”

Kathy’s breathing shifted, and when he was sure she was fully asleep, he moved closer to her, resting the side of his face against her back. Sometimes, he thought that was the only thing keeping them together: the comfort of her touch in the darkness. The warm feeling of flesh touching flesh, connecting in a silent union, reminding him of how things had once been with his wife.

Of how things had become with his mistress.

Robert couldn’t help but compare Kathy’s attitude with Stephanie’s. Stephanie was encouraging and interested; Kathy was the complete opposite. Kathy simply didn’t understand his world and, as far as he could see, had no interest in even trying to understand. Her world had shrunk to the kids, the home, her friends, and her sisters. Because he was running so fast now, running just to stand still, it was a world he had little time for and, except for his children, even less interest in.

And when he came home to a night like tonight, when there was an argument over nothing, then he really appreciated having someone understanding and loving to talk to, someone like Stephanie.

His job required him to be able to compartmentalize and prioritize. The production business was essentially one of time and people management, and although he could be disorganized in his personal habits, he had always been able to manage his business.

Kathy lived in one compartment; Stephanie in the other. He sometimes liked to imagine the three of them as three circles. His personal Venn diagram. He remembered, when he was Theresa’s age, using a protractor to make the three circles, classifying set groups and objects in intersecting geometric circles. His circle intersected with Kathy and Stephanie; their circles intersected with his. But, in his diagram, the women’s circles could never intersect. That would complicate his life tremendously, though he knew he didn’t have to worry. Kathy was disinterested in him and the business; Stephanie was interested in every aspect of the business—and every aspect of him too. He smiled into the darkness.

Stephanie had a healthy appetite toward lovemaking, whereas over the years he and Kathy had drifted apart in that department too. He was as much to blame as she was; he was often exhausted after too many hours in the office and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. He’d also be the first to admit that they’d become just a little bored with one another sexually. With Stephanie, every time was new and exciting.

Stephanie spoke to him every day, and, more important, listened to him. Kathy told him practically nothing. When he asked how her day had gone, Kathy would say “Fine,” and that would be the sum total of information.

Of the two, Stephanie was more demanding. She wanted to spend time with him. And he adored spending time with her. She made him feel young; she made him feel special again.

Kathy made him feel like an inconvenience.

And yet, and yet, and yet . . . he loved Kathy. Not passionately, not sexually, not extravagantly; he just loved her. She was his—God, he hated the phrase—his rock. She had been with him right from the beginning, had worked side-by-side with him to build the business, even when she was pregnant. She had supported him when he wanted to set up his own company, even though it meant giving up a regular paycheck and a pension. The bond they’d forged together ran deep, and if their relationship had changed . . . well, after eighteen years, that was hardly surprising.

What was surprising was that he’d fallen in love with Stephanie too.

That was the problem. He’d never believed it was possible to love two people equally; he’d always imagined that love was some sort of exclusive emotion. And he had discovered that it wasn’t. He had discovered that it was possible to love two people simultaneously.

Robert turned over in the bed and looked at the glowing red digits on the clock: 12:55. He needed to get to sleep; he needed to be refreshed and alert tomorrow morning for the presentation. Yet his mind would not quiet.

He loved Stephanie.

Or did he?

The emotion had crept upon him over the past couple of months, surprising and frightening him in equal measure. He’d never really thought about the words, “I love you.” Three little words, overused, bandied about with little thought to their real meaning. In the television and advertising business especially, it was a phrase that everyone used. It was a phrase he used with Kathy every day . . . although he had recently drifted out of the habit of saying it to her. It was a phrase he had tucked the children into bed with every night, until they had grown too big and he got too busy to be home when they needed tucking in.

And then, about six months ago, he had first used the phrase to Stephanie and meant it.

It had shocked them both.

And it had frightened him.

 

Robert had first met Stephanie Burroughs almost seven years earlier. R&K had been struggling, and the position was made all the more difficult because Kathy had stepped back from the business to look after the children. Her mother, Margaret, had been helping out up till then, but she had started to become increasing bitter and gloomy, and both Robert and Kathy became genuinely concerned for the children’s welfare around her. Also, Brendan and Theresa simply didn’t want to spend any more time with Granny Childs.

Stephanie had joined the company as a researcher. She’d been a freelancer, a couple of years out of graduate school, and had impressed Robert in her job interview with her intelligence and portfolio. Her Ivy League pedigree didn’t hurt either.

R&K had landed a small, but lucrative project:
One Hundred Years Ago on This Day
—little two-minute inserts that told, in news-report form, the events of one hundred years previously. The pieces required intensive research and sharp writing. Stephanie had ended up doing all the work on the pieces: researching, writing, finding the pictures and archive footage where needed, and also the locations, costumes, and jewelry for the dramatic reconstructions.

Robert and Stephanie had worked very closely together on the
One Hundred Years
project, which had, by necessity, taken them up and down the East Coast, keeping them away from home for days at a time. He had to admit that he’d found himself attracted to her. But that’s all it had been, an attraction, and he’d never done anything about it, never tried to take it any further. Stephanie was a bright, vivacious, lively, fun-loving young woman. Neither he nor Stephanie had said or done anything to move it onto another level. It was only later, much later, that he had realized that all he had been waiting for was a hint from Stephanie that she was interested. Then things might have been different....

Close to the end of the
One Hundred Years
project, when everything had been shot and they were in the final stages of editing, Kathy had accused him of having an affair with Stephanie. It had been a lazy Sunday afternoon, and he’d been standing at the barbecue in the back garden at peace with the world, content and unsuspecting when she’d made the accusation out of the blue. The hamburgers had burnt to carbon as he listened to Kathy’s wild allegations, and it was months before he’d been able to stand the odor of meat again without feeling sick to his stomach. He’d denied his wife’s accusations of course, because they weren’t true, but deep in his heart he felt guilty, because he knew how close he’d come.

He’d never told Stephanie, but he’d immediately terminated her contract with a little cash bonus as a thank-you. They’d kept in touch intermittently, and then she’d gotten a lucrative job down in Miami as an accounts manager for Saatchi & Saatchi. In the first few weeks after her departure, while Kathy had persisted in her suspicions, he’d thought of Stephanie often, and then, when everything calmed down at home, she had rarely crossed his mind again.