The Seducer (33 page)

In some ways, this episode reminded Ana of how Michael had acted with Karen. Although his relationship with his fiancée had been more serious, a similar pattern of behavior emerged. Once Michael decided he was done with a woman, her needs, her actions and her entire personhood no longer mattered to him. Initially, Ana had felt a certain pride that her lover had placed her in a different category of women, since he had often told her that he had never loved anyone so passionately or needed anyone as much as her. She was the exception that confirmed the rule, he had repeatedly assured her. No doubt, part of her enjoyed the challenge of taming a man who had been so wild with every other woman in his life.

Yet now that she had observed her lover's reaction to the news that she'd finally become his partner, Ana began to wonder if she, herself, wasn't just a score for him. A different kind of score, a seduction of body, mind and soul. One that took more time, energy and patience, but with the same inevitable end result. Once he had won the match, Michael would move on to the next challenge. This idea greatly perturbed Ana, hitting too close to her husband's warning. For that very reason, she tried to dismiss it. Michael loves me, she told herself. He wooed me for months. He gave me all of his attention and affection. He promised to take care of me and the kids.

By the end of this rehearsal of Michael's loving words and gestures, Ana felt somewhat pacified. But a trace of distrust towards her lover lingered. She was now on the alert for any future warning signals. Because she knew that when he was really interested in a woman, his focus on her and on everything associated with her was total and intense. It resembled a powerful beam of light that illuminated only one spot at a time. For almost a year, Ana had been that spot.

But now she began to wonder for how long she'd continue to attract his undivided attention. Because once Michael's interest diminished, the light dispersed. Afterwards, there was no energy left in the relationship, except perhaps for the unreciprocated, desperate efforts of a discarded partner: which is to say, a total waste of energy. Emotions poured into a black hole. Although Michael may not have been honest with anybody else, Ana sensed, he always remained true to himself. He lied disturbingly well, with an uncanny glibness and ease. But he was much too selfish and, in that sense, much too honest, about his own needs to convincingly fake interest in someone else. Which is why, despite his seductiveness, deceitfulness and charm, Michael was actually quite transparent if you were willing to open your eyes and take a good look at him. And once you did, you saw the man Ana was beginning to see. You saw the seducer.

The storm had passed, yet the calm state in which Ana and Rob found themselves seemed more like the eye of a tornado. The room vibrated with the stillness of tension. They had told the children as diplomatically as possible the bad news. They tried to explain that they both loved them very much, but didn't get along as well they should, which is why they were getting a divorce. At least Ana had framed the issue in such a conveniently neutral manner. Feeling like a hostage in the whole situation, Rob had added that he was completely against the divorce, but that Mama fell in love with someone named Michael and was leaving him for that man. Michelle was the first to respond, with a shrill scream, “Mama, how could you do this to Daddy? I hate Michael!” She stormed out of the room and locked herself into her bedroom, to release in solitude the pain of her newly shattered world.

Allen didn't react at first. He stood still, trying to comprehend what was happening between his parents. He looked in silence at his father, then at his mother. After a few moments, he decided that he loved them both equally. In his mind, they were the greatest parents in the world. “I love you,” he said to them. Then, seeing that his sister had defended his father and that his mother was in tears, he gave Ana a hug. “Don't worry, Mom. No matter what happens with you and Daddy, I'll still love you,” he said to her.

Rob resented the fact that his wife would be selfish enough to hurt her own children. Enough was enough. “When are you moving out?” he asked her.

“I don't know,” she replied, dazed by her children's opposite reactions, both of which tugged at her heartstrings. “I wish I could take this pill, like in that science fiction movie, and just forget about him. I wish we had never met,” she said in all honesty.

“You say this now. But as soon as you see him again, you change your mind and forget all about us,” Rob countered.

“He's got this weird hold on me,” Ana said, placing her hand upon her heart, as if trying to relieve a muscular ache that accompanied her oppressive, conflicted emotions. She thought back to the melodious sound of Michael's voice, to his mesmerizing gaze, to the overpowering fierceness of his desire. They lulled her conscience, controlling her will, as if by some inexplicable hypnotic force. Ana didn't know how to explain this strange phenomenon to anyone, not even to herself. She felt like a willing captive, a contradiction in terms. Because Michael wasn't just pleasant or charismatic. He was
intensely
charming. Ana felt gripped by the force of his personality, swept up by the whirlwind of his desires, uplifted by his vows of love.

Seeing the faraway look in his wife's eyes, Rob felt disheartened. If even seeing the pain she's causing their children couldn't stop her, nothing would. “You're free to do as you wish.” A flash of anger passed through him when he realized that Ana was hedging not because she felt genuinely torn, as she claimed, but because she didn't fully trust her lover. “But let me make one thing very clear: if you chose Michael, it's all over between us for good,” he decided it was time to draw some clear boundaries.

Ana nodded mechanically in agreement. She had made such major life decisions, yet she felt like she hadn't chosen anything at all. It was as if a hidden force had been pushing her from behind or pulling her forward, towards her lover. “I don't want to go but I can't stay either,” she replied, stuck in the impasse that had paralyzed her from the start.

Rob stared at her unsympathetically. “I can't feel sorry for you, Ana. At least you have no one to blame but yourself for your pain. The rest of us are suffering because of you.” His eyes flashed with hatred. But the emotion didn't last long. Ana looked so lost, defeated. She didn't look like a woman leaving an unhappy marriage to live out her dream with the love of her life, as she claimed. “Why are you doing this to us?”

“He loves me. I owe him this chance.”

Her answer triggered Rob's anger again. “How does he love and respect you more than I have?” he demanded. “I've been loyal and faithful to you all these years. I've taken care of you and our kids. What has he done to prove his Jove? Other than declare it with words? Words are cheap, Ana.”

“The day I got kicked out of Tracy's gallery, I felt horrible,” she recounted. “And you just blamed me for my bad break, as usual. But Michael was there for me. He helped me find other galleries.”

“Any man who wants to be with you for awhile will tell you what you want to hear,” Rob countered.

“His interest in my art is genuine,” Ana insisted.

“It may very well be, but I'm sure it's no coincidence that he gave you all that attention right at the moment when he was trying to win you over from me. Only time will tell if he'll be as supportive of you once you actually move in with him.”

“I believe that he will be.”

How it sickens me to hear this, Rob thought. She wants me to match Michael in devotion to her art. How could I possibly do this? When would I have the time? he asked himself. Should I quit work, apply for a government check and spend my time tending to her needs? And what about my own needs? “How much do you encourage me and my ambitions?” he turned the tables on her.

“You never want to share anything with me.”

“You're not interested in what I do.”

The same old Catch-22, Ana observed. In that instant, she felt almost relieved to escape this vicious circle by moving in with her lover.

“If you had real confidence in your art, you wouldn't need his goddamn flattery!” Rob burst out. “Look at the guy's actions, not his words. If he had any genuine respect for you, he'd see how tom you feel and Jet you make your own decisions, without pressuring you.”

Ana bristled at this accusation precisely because it rang plausible. “Michael doesn't control me. And he doesn't flatter me either. He just encourages me to create the kind of art I want.”

She's blind, blind as a bat, Rob thought. “All I can say is watch out for excessive flattery, Ana. Because those who feed your vanity generally want something from you,” he warned her. “I don't understand what this guy wants from you, since you're neither rich nor famous. All I know is that you've wrecked our marriage for a very shady character. Only time will tell if I'm right or wrong about him. But if things don't work out between the two of you, I won't be there to save you,” he repeated, hoping to get through to her.

“Yes, only time will tell,” Ana repeated.

When he went to sleep on the living room sofa that night, Rob contemplated their earlier conversation. She regards me as a safety net, not as her husband, the man she loved. I could never take her back even if she changed her mind, he resolved. There's no way I could continue living in a marriage where I linger as the pale image of Ana's one true love. How often, and how pathetically, must I keep on telling her that I want to feel loved exclusively in our relationship? The fact that I have to point this out to her is a sign of incredible weakness and dispensability; an emasculated cry for a love that can never be forthcoming from the brutally selfish woman who forces me to ask for it in the first place.

The next day, after Ana called him to confirm that she and Rob had told the kids about the divorce, Michael took a few moments to gather himself. He wanted to make sure that he was in an appropriately contrite mood to tell Karen the bad news. He sat down on the couch and attempted to think of something depressing, but nothing occurred to him. What the hell, I'll just wing it, he decided and picked up the phone. “Hey, you!” he greeted Karen.

“Hey ...”

“What's wrong, Baby?”

Hearing him call her “Baby” in such a tender manner, Karen instantly let down her guard. “I don't know what to do anymore,” she complained. “I've tried everything. I exercise four hours a day, like a maniac. I follow our strict program. I walk in the morning, then go swimming after lunch, do cardio and weight lifting at the gym in the evening. I eat fresh fruit, lean meat and vegetables. I cut out sugar and carbs,” she became increasingly upset as she recounted the Spartan nature of her diet regimen. “But in spite of all this, I've gained three pounds this week,” she sourly concluded her report.

“Did you check to see if the scale was set on zero?”

“Yes, it's set where it's supposed to be. I weigh myself about once a week, like you suggested.”

“No more than that!” Michael counseled. “You don't want to become too obsessed with your weight. It could backfire.”

“Yeah, well, it's a little too late for that.”

“You're doing everything right, Babe,” he reassured Karen, usually sympathetic when her distress wasn't demonstrably his fault. “Don't beat yourself up over nothing. You've lost so much weight already. It's normal to gain a few pounds just from the exercise itself. Remember what I said earlier?” he quizzed her.

“What?”

“Muscle weights more than fat. Since you've been weightlifting almost every day, it's likely all that weight gain's pure muscle. In fact, you've probably lost some more fat weight. So, actually, congratulations are in order!”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Karen replied, not ready to uncork the champagne bottle just yet. “My clothes don't fit any looser than they did last week. In fact, they seem a little tighter.”

“You might be bloated from p.m.s.,” Michael offered another charitable explanation.

“Maybe,” Karen hesitantly conceded. “My period's so irregular since you made me get off the birth control that I don't have a clue anymore when it's supposed to come.”

“That's alright. The pill screws up your hormones and makes you retain water. And you know I didn't propose this for selfish reasons this time!” he laughed out loud.

“Yeah, well, it's hard to tell since we've been living apart. And I miss you so much ... I think about you all day long,” she launched into the real topic she wanted to discuss.

“I know,” Michael said without reciprocating, however. He used this occasion to allow his fiancée to pick up the scent of his detachment, without having to express it explicitly himself. His philosophy of communication was: when it comes to anything unpleasant, let your interlocutor do the work. That way you'll get much less of the blame in the end.

“Do you miss me?” Karen fell right into his net, sensing evasiveness.

“Of course,” he blandly affirmed.

“You know, I've been thinking about giving up on this whole Phoenix idea,” she tested the waters for a potential change in plans. “It's so lonely out here without you. And who knows if you'll move to Arizona this summer. You may find the job of your dreams around Detroit.”

Michael was not expecting this twist. “I don't think you should make any hasty decisions just because you had a bad week,” he assumed the tone of a disinterested observer. “Look at all the progress you've made in such a short time. You're exercising several hours a day. You're eating healthy. Even your attitude seems much brighter.”

“The truth of the matter is that I'm not happier here by myself,” Karen confessed. “I try to sound upbeat on the phone since we talk so little. But there's not a single day goes by without me feeling sad that we're apart.”