The Affair (18 page)

Jimmy pulled out a flip phone that was at least five years out of date. He tilted it to the light and squinted at the small, green screen. “No. No signal. Must be the thickness of the walls.”

“You need to upgrade that,” Robert smiled. “Noah probably used that model to talk to God about the Flood.”

“I think it’s retro chic. Besides, I’m not a conformist.” Jimmy reached out for Robert’s phone. “Very fancy. I presume it does everything except butter your toast.”

“I think it might even do that.”

Jimmy handed Robert back his phone and asked abruptly, “Is it true y’er fucking around with Stephanie Burroughs?”

“What?” For a single instant, Robert wasn’t sure if he had heard right. He felt his stomach cramp. “Who said that?”

“Me. Just now.” Jimmy smiled sympathetically. “This is a small city, Robert. Small minds and big mouths. People talk and make assumptions. Some uppity prick saw ye together and made the connection.”

“People should mind their own fucking business!” Robert barked, surprising himself with his vehemence.

“So it’s true then?”

Robert opened his mouth to bark a response and deny it, but then he abruptly nodded. “It’s true.” Even as he was saying the words, he felt an extraordinary rush of emotion; it took him a moment to recognize it as relief. Jimmy was the first person—the only person—to whom he would confess his affair with Stephanie. It was as if the balloon of tension he had been carrying in the back of his neck for the last several months had quickly deflated, allowing the stress and guilt to hiss out with it. “Stephanie and I are . . . together.”

Jimmy leaned across and caught both of Robert’s hands in his. “Is she worth it?”

Startled, Robert drew back. “What?” This was not the reaction he’d expected. Jimmy’s affairs and one-night stands were legendary.

The bartender came to clear their plates, and the two men drew apart. Robert needed some time to gather his thoughts. Jimmy knew about his affair. Other people knew about the relationship. The question was: Who else knew, and for how long? Even though the Oyster House was now hot and noisy, he felt surrounded by a bubble of chilly silence.

“Is she worth it?” Jimmy asked again.

“Yes. Yes. I think so. Who told you?”

“I was at an audition recently. A callback for some Celtics promo. I was in a group, and I overheard someone from the production company talking about Stephanie’s company. He mentioned that they’d given you three major contracts over the past year and wondered how that had come about when you didn’t exactly have a track record in shooting advertisements. Simon Farmer . . .”

“Little prick,” Robert interjected immediately.

“Little prick,” Jimmy agreed. “He said it was because you were shagging their accounts manager. He said it like it was common knowledge.” Jimmy signalled to the bartender for another drink.

The beer and oysters curdled and soured in Robert’s stomach, and he felt as if he was about to throw up. His fingers were trembling slightly as he lifted his glass and drained it in one long swallow. It seared its way down his throat. He should have been feeling a little buzz from the beer on an empty stomach, but right now he was stone-cold sober, and he imagined that no matter how much he drank tonight, he would not be able to get drunk.

Jimmy sipped his beer, then pulled Robert’s glass over and emptied half of his into it. “It took me a moment to figure out that it was Stephanie he was talking about.”

“Shit. And is it . . . common knowledge, I mean?”

“I’d not heard it before,” Jimmy admitted. “I’ve suspected about the pair of you for a while however. I will confess whenever I saw the two of you together, there was a comfortableness between you that made me uneasy.”

“Uneasy? How?”

“Because I saw myself and Frances in the way the two of you stood, the way you casually looked at one another, the innocent and apparently accidental touching of hands. The casual chat that was anything but.”

“And you never said anything to me about it?”

“None of my business, was it? Besides, with my reputation, I’m not the one to be telling you how to live your life.”

“I need to talk to Stephanie. I need to let her know. She might lose her job over this.”

“I doubt it. She wouldn’t be the first colleen to do favors for her lover, and besides, I’m sure the work you did for her company was top-notch. As long as you weren’t overpaid and didn’t under-deliver, you’ll be fine.”

“She said she might lose her job if anyone found out.”

Jimmy shrugged. “If she worked for me, I’d be asking hard questions,” he admitted, “but if she’s done nothing illegal, I would have no cause to sack her. She’s a tough cookie; she’ll have protected herself somehow.”

Robert put his elbows on the bar and cupped his head in his hands. “I didn’t think anyone knew. I’ve been so careful.”

“Bob, I’m tellin’ ye what I heard. Hearsay. Repeated by a bitter little wanker, pissed off because he didn’t get the accounts. And because he wasn’t shagging Stephanie Burroughs himself, probably. Look, even if there was nothing going on, people would be talking. If a man and a woman are out together, people suspect. Didn’t you ever watch
When Harry Met Sally
?

“You’ve been in this position before,” Robert said desperately. “What should I do?”

“You’re really asking me two questions: What should you do, and what should you do if anyone asks?”

Robert thought about it for a moment and then nodded in agreement. There were two questions. He opted for the easier one. “What do I say if anyone asks?”

“You have two choices: deny or accept. If you accept it, you have to be prepared for the consequences, which will affect home, the children, friends, and work. My advice is to lie. Deny it and stick to your guns. Make sure Stephanie denies it. But make sure that Kathy knows about the rumors before anyone tells her. Tell her you’ve heard that this story is going around and you’re bringing it to her attention first. You have to make her believe it’s not true. If Kathy believes that nothing is going on, then you’re okay; however, if she has any suspicions, then you will only be confirming them.”

Robert opened his mouth to say something, but Jimmy held up a hand.

“And don’t tell me you don’t want to lie to her. You’ve already done that. This is just an extension of the lie. That’s the thing with lying. It’s a gift that just keeps on giving.”

Robert slumped on his barstool and motioned to the bartender. “Can I have the bill, please?” He looked at Jimmy. “I’m really sorry. I need to get out, get a breath of air, clear my head.”

“I understand.”

Robert laughed, a short bark. “You know what’s so ironic here? I had decided just a couple of hours ago that I’d suggest to Stephanie that we really should consider stepping back from one another in the New Year.”

Jimmy’s face remained a blank mask.

“Maybe this will precipitate that,” Robert continued.

“Bob, are you just screwing around with Stephanie, or do ye really love her?”

There was a long pause, and then Robert’s lips formed the words, unheard over the noise in the bar. “I really love her.” He licked dry lips and repeated it aloud. “I really love her.”

“Shite. And Kathy? Do ye still love her?”

“Yes.”

Jimmy squirmed uncomfortably. “Then you’re banjaxed. It’s always so much easier if it’s just sex.”

“I know that.”

“Let me give you some advice. Never tell a woman that you’re dumping her—no matter how nicely you phrase it. That road leads to disaster.”

“I should never have gotten into this situation. But at the time . . .”

“I know. It was easy. Easier to get into than to get out of. Remember what I said about everything having a price. Well, payment is a bitch.”

“I
never did ask you what I should do.”

The two men shivered as they came out of the Oyster House. The temperature had plummeted, though that seemed to have had no effect on the line of people waiting to get in, or the milling crowd of smokers gathered on the street.

“That’s not a question you should be asking me,” the older man said.

Robert offered to walk Jimmy back to his apartment, but in light of the new information, refused his offer of staying over. They headed down busy Hanover Street, passing the brightly lit window of Mike’s Pastry. The air smelled of baking and sugar.

Robert dug his hands into the pockets of his long black overcoat. “I just don’t know what to do. I’ve never been in this situation before and—”

“I have.” Jimmy smiled, but there was nothing humorous in the twisting of his lips. “Believe me, I have. But you know something? All of the affairs I had—and I’ll not deny that there were many—none of them tempted me to leave Angela. Except Frances. And, I’ll admit this to you and to no one else, if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, I’d not be in the mess I’m in now. Angela and I never had children. We tried; we wanted them. We got medical advice, but there was nothing wrong; we just never conceived. We talked about adopting, but my life was too erratic; I was all over the place; the money was too irregular. Even if we had managed to adopt, it would have meant Angela would have been left to raise the child herself. We kept putting it off, and suddenly that option was closed off to us. But when Angela learned that Frances had given birth, that was the last straw in our relationship. She had forgiven me so much over the years, but I think she saw that as the ultimate betrayal.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t leave Kathy.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I love them both!” Robert said loudly, shocked by the sound of desperation in his own voice. His voice carried on the chill air, and tourists, taking pictures of Paul Revere’s statue, glanced over at him.

Jimmy gripped his arm and hurried him across the road, weaving through traffic, which was at a standstill. “So what? Love is not some exclusive emotion that you give to one person. We love lots of people, our parents, wives, children. We love them unconditionally. I’m not talking about love. I’m talking about commitment. Which one of the women are you committed to?”

They turned right past Nico Ristorante heading down Hanover Avenue. The narrow avenue was jammed with smokers spilling out from the restaurant, some sitting on the icy curb. A bachelorette party in matching Santa outfits that ended high on their thighs was click-clacking its way across the street. Their bare flesh looked blue and alabaster with the cold.

Jimmy paused at an entranceway. “Here’s where I leave you. Are you sure you won’t come up for a nightcap?”

“I’d better not; I’m driving.”

“Think about what I’ve said. This is no longer about love—since you love them both—this is about commitment. Commitment in the past, commitment now, and commitment in the future. You wouldn’t be where you are today if Kathy hadn’t been there to support you.”

“I know that. But the business wouldn’t have survived without Stephanie.”

“Yes, it would, Robert. It would just have survived differently.” Jimmy suddenly reached forward and embraced Robert, hugging him closely. When Jimmy spoke, his words were warm and moist against the younger man’s ear. “Which is more important to you: your marriage and your family, or your mistress and your business? This time next year, where do you want to be? Who do you want to be with?” He broke away and took half a dozen steps, before glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and Merry Christmas.” Then he turned, buzzed in his code, and was swallowed up by the dark hallway.

Robert waited until he was out of the noisy North End before reaching for his phone. He was about to call Stephanie, then he stopped. What was he going to say? His head was spinning. Events were slipping out of control; there was just too much to deal with at the moment.

He darted across the road, car horns blaring, an angry shout fading behind him, and walked toward Beacon Hill. Couples walked toward him, arm in arm, happy, laughing, smiling, and he found himself wondering how many of them were having affairs, how many of them were in genuine relationships. But was that to suggest that an affair was not a genuine relationship? It was. He found himself nodding. His relationship with Stephanie was genuine.

But was it fair?

The answer was stark and simple. It wasn’t fair to anyone. He fished his phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial for Stephanie. The call was answered almost immediately.

“I was just about to call you,” she began.

“Where are you?”

“Heading home. I met Izzie for a drink at Clink. Is everything all right?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll meet you at home. I’m just heading out of the North End; I left the car outside the office. It’ll take me forty-five minutes.”

“Robert . . .” Stephanie began, but he hung up the phone. He didn’t want to talk to her just now; he needed a little time to think.

This was not how he had planned to end his day, walking cold and heartsick through the colorfully lit streets of Boston. This should have been a good day: it looked as if he had tied up the DaBoyz contract; he had made love to a beautiful woman and then had dinner with an old friend.

Until Jimmy had told him about the rumors. And then everything had changed. Was he overreacting? Jimmy had said that Simon Farmer had told the group that Robert was having an affair with Stephanie. He knew Farmer, an obnoxious little no-talent shit, but one who was incredibly well connected. Farmer’s company managed, year after year after year, to get some plum contracts. Farmer himself was a loud-mouthed drunk, and he and Robert had bumped heads on a couple of occasions. They had sat on a couple of awards committees together some years ago and had simply not gotten along. Thinking back to those committee days, Robert remembered that one of the things he had particularly disliked about the man was that he was a gossip, delighting in telling tales and spreading bad news. How many people had he told?

Robert walked up Causeway past North Station. For a second, he contemplated just taking the T to Stephanie. The Orange Line would let him off at Green Street, just a few long blocks from Stephanie’s condo; however, he didn’t want to feel vulnerable without a car in case things didn’t go well. He turned up Staniford and made a right onto Cambridge. He had to accept that if Farmer knew about his relationship with Stephanie and had noticed that she was directing business toward Robert’s company, then Farmer would complain. His stomach lurched; maybe he already had.

Robert pulled out his iPhone and stepped into a nearby Starbucks, where he ordered a double espresso. He scrolled down through the names in his contacts list until he eventually found Jimmy’s. The call was answered on the first ring.

“Jimmy Moran.”

“It’s Robert.”

“Changed your mind? Come on over.” Robert distinctly heard a pop and then a clink as Jimmy opened a bottle and poured liquid into a glass.

“I can’t. I’m going to see Stephanie. She and I need to talk.”

“Good idea.”

“Jimmy, how long ago were you talking to Farmer? How recent was that audition?”

“It was the last weekend in November. I can get you the exact date if you like.”

“No, that’s great. I just was trying to work out how long Farmer has known.”

“Robert,” Jimmy said seriously, “when he announced the news, no one reacted like it was a big surprise. I think you have to accept that people know and have known for a while.... And you know something—most people don’t give a shite, which is as it should be. Now go and talk to Stephanie. And you know you can call me anytime. Anytime,” he emphasized.

“I know. Thank you, Jimmy, you’re a good friend.” Robert hung up, pushed his phone back into his pocket, and downed his drink. He left Starbucks and hurried up the street. He needed to get back to the car, needed to get to Stephanie, needed to talk to her.

But if people knew, then why had no one said anything to him? He’d been at a CLIOs meet-and-greet in New York City six months earlier. One of his old colleagues from Leo Burnett was being honored, and pretty much anyone who was anyone in creative marketing was at the Skylight Soho. No one had said anything to him about Stephanie. Not even Farmer. They’d exchanged a few civil words. He frowned, trying to rerun the event in his head. Was there something he had missed, some subtle hints, some knowing looks? Had people been looking at him, whispering behind his back, talking about him?

He laughed, a sudden barking sound that made the young couple walking toward him veer away suddenly. He was being paranoid. Paranoid and stupid. Of course no one was talking about him; Jimmy was right. No one cared.

But this was certainly no way to live his life, wondering if people were talking about him, concerned about what they thought of him, terrified in case his wife caught a hint of the rumors. Or had a taste of the truth. He had to sort this out.

Tonight.