The Unforgiving Minute (27 page)

was afraid you might have forgotten about me.” She smiled and

shook my hand and at the same time turned and introduced me to

Morani. Morani politely, if weakly, shook my hand and excused

himself instantly, disappearing into the crowd. I grinned and

said, “It pays to know people who travel in the best circles.”

She smiled that imperious British smile of hers and took my arm

and introduced me to other executives from the Morani group. I

was elated to find that she was also at table twenty-two. I

looked her over. She was wearing a shimmering emerald-colored

evening gown that was pinched tight at the waist. The shoulders

were bare save for two small straps and her creamy white English

skin with just a hint of freckles was exciting to me. The

d´ecolletage was just low enough to be slightly erotic, but high

enough to be ladylike. She wore just enough of a beautiful

perfume that I could not place. Her blonde hair was piled high

on her head, bringing out her exquisite cheekbones. She wore her

make-up lightly as a woman who knows her skin is perfect would

do. She stepped in front of me for a moment and I mentally

undressed her.

I was hoping beyond hope that this exquisite creature

would share my bed at the end of this evening. I was feeling

like a very lucky man indeed. After a few introductions, she

said, “Make yourself at home. I have things to do. I’ll see you

later at the table.” I guessed at the time that, being a

journalist, she was also working tonight, and I certainly didn’t

want to deter her in her work. I cruised the room, stopping to

talk to the festive, friendly crowd, trying first English and

then my less-than-adequate Italian. I had to admit I was having

a great time. The people were interesting and elegant and it was

definitely my kind of party. Despite not having made contact

with Maude for the best part of an hour, I was looking forward to

the rest of the evening with a great deal of anticipation.

At about eleven o’clock, the lights dimmed on and off and

the large crowd seemed to filter slowly to the gigantic ballroom

which was ornately decorated with New Year’s decorations. It

took me some time to find table twenty-two and I was quite

disappointed to find Maude seated in between Signore Morani and a

burly gentleman who was unknown to me. I carefully selected a

seat at a part of the table that was totally empty, assuming that

Maude, after her necessary journalistic conversations with Angelo

Morani, would seat herself next to me. I was especially awaiting

the entrance of Signora Morani, so that Maude would be compelled

to get up and move to my side. I was totally surprised when the

table filled up completely and I found myself seated next to a

rather obese Italian lady who spoke no English and another man,

since there was a disproportionate distribution of the sexes. I

sat there for almost fifteen minutes till Maude finally

acknowledged my presence with a perfunctory wave before resuming

her conversation with Morani and his companions. “Oh well,” I

thought, “she can’t very well be impolite until Mrs. Morani

shows up and I guess we can redistribute seating somehow.” I

laughed to myself as I counted the seats at the table. There

were exactly fourteen places. I ordered at least my fifth drink

of the night as they served the first course. It was a wonderful

cold salad of langostura. I was not, however, very hungry at

all, except possibly for Maude Blaney. Each time the band

played, Maude danced with Morani, and through my drunken haze I

could see that their closeness on the dance floor was a sign of

an intimacy I hadn’t noticed before. The next time they sat down

I could see her hand resting on Morani’s thigh. What a fool I

was! Maude was Morani’s mistress and his wife was probably

performing at La Scala in Milano and would not show up tonight.

My drunken elation changed into a mixture of depression

and anger. It was about eleven forty-five when I walked over to

Maude and asked her to dance. She turned to Morani as if to ask

permission and he gave a combination nod of his head and shrug of

his shoulders. She looked at her watch as if to calculate that

she would definitely be with Morani when the clock struck twelve

and accompanied me to the dance floor.

I pulled her close to me. The band was playing “Mala

Femmina,” which I thought was quite fitting. She tried hard to

resist my firm embrace but I held her tight. “Maude, I am

enthralled with you; I want you, is there some way you can get

out of here with me?”

She looked at me angrily. “Look, Mr. Boyd, you were

lonely this morning; you needed a party to go to tonight. I

don’t remember saying anything that would give you the impression

that I was in the least bit interested in you romantically. Now

stop grinding me or whatever it is you’re trying to do and sit

down and be a good boy. Remember you’re a guest here by virtue

of my kindness, so please don’t embarrass me.”

With that she walked off the dance floor in a huff. I

looked toward the table and saw Morani and the burly fellow who

looked like he might be a bodyguard staring at me.

I looked at my watch; it was ten to twelve. I staggered

toward the door, stopping to pilfer a bottle of champagne on the

way out. Formally dressed, champagne under my arm, I walked out

onto the Via Veneto. It was quite chilly, probably in the

forties, and I stood out there reeling in the cold night air. I

was about to go to my room when I saw her. She was one of those

high-priced, “puttanas,” or call girls, that prowl the better

neighborhoods in their fancy cars. This one was in an Alfa

convertible with the top down, so that she could be displayed on

this chilly evening. She was darkly beautiful and wore a short

skirt of leather that displayed her flawless legs, and a fox

stole to warm her upper body. I staggered to the car, champagne

in hand, and made my deal, which in my drunken state was

extremely generous even for an expensive hooker such as this. I

wanted the ultimate Roman experience. I wanted sex in the

Colosseum.

The Colosseum as it is now does not resemble the great

stadium of ancient Rome. It is dark, foreboding, disheveled, and

in years following the glory of ancient Rome it had been

everything from a fort to a manure-storage depot. Much of its

ornate stone was pirated to build the Vatican and other Roman

structures.

Although it once held fifty-five thousand spectators,

there was nothing resembling seats or benches within the

structure. It seems to be a giant bowl filled with rubble. The

Colosseum also seems to be the home for every stray cat in Rome

and cat lovers often invade the stadium to feed them. The girl’s

name was Lucia and we held hands as we walked into the empty,

dark structure. She was wearing expensive leather boots and the

only thing that indicated she was a hooker was the extreme

shortness of her skirt.

I found a large flat rock on which we sat side by side. I

popped the cork on the champagne bottle and we shared it,

alternating large gulps till it was about half empty. At this

point Lucia was giddy as a school girl and I was almost

paralyzed. We sat on the rock necking while she kept repeating,

“Roberto, mi amore, ti voglio bene.” In my state I could believe she was

my love and that she wanted me desperately. She slid to the

floor below the rock and unzipped my fly. I could feel her

incredibly skilled lips and tongue giving me a wild pleasure that

transcended all my frustrations of the evening. The last thing I

remembered was coming in her mouth and her coming back to lick

away every drop and to continue sucking as I passed out with the

feeling that I was falling into a long dark hole.

I woke up with the sunlight. It was still quite chilly

but a slight warmth was burning through the cold. I could still

feel her tongue licking me. My God, was she still at it? When I

looked down, however, I was revolted. Three of the worst-looking

cats I have ever seen were licking my genitals. I shooed them

away and stood up. I felt nauseous and dizzy. After urinating I

could barely hold back the vomit as I threw up. There was no

mirror available but I had to be green at that moment.

I looked in my pockets and, amazingly, she had not taken

any more money than the fee I had already paid her. She was

gone, however, and I wished I knew her address, because I wanted

to send her a thank-you card for saving my life.

I walked out of the building, walked several blocks and

found a taxi stand. When I got back to my room and looked at

myself in the mirror, I was surprised that a taxi would even

accept me as a fare or that they would let me into the hotel

lobby.

I literally ran from the elevator to my room and, upon

arrival, took the letter to Ann Marie and threw it into the

wastebasket.

I slipped off the soiled and odorous evening clothes and

settled into a hot bath, scrubbing myself till my skin was red.

What a fitting time New Year’s Day was to end this

madness. My mind was clear as a bell. I knew what was really

important in my life and how I should conduct it.

I emerged from the bath wrapped in my terry robe and

dialed the telephone. In a few hours I would be on my way to

Leonardo da Vinci Airport.

My life was about to begin.

THE END

EPILOGUE

August, 1995

The golf ball came off the club and I stood and watched it

in the oppressive humidity of the Florida summer. It came to

rest just behind a large palm tree. I was playing in a threesome

and was driving alone in my cart as I thought of a similar shot

just ten years ago. This time, though, I chipped the ball into

the fairway and played on. This time, I was a happy man. The

events of the last ten years came into my mind and I smiled a

smile of contentment. These days, I mostly played golf, did a

little writing for trade publications and visited my children and

grandchildren, most of whom had settled in the South Florida

area. Julie and I led a low-key, uneventful life. The life we

led was symbolic of the changes that had come over me in the last

ten years.

I guess the five months in 1985 that I spent in Europe had

a positive effect after all. When I arrived in New York, I was

as confused as ever. As a matter of fact, I spent two days in an

airport motel before I called anyone. The first person I called

was Ann Marie. When she answered the phone, I could see that I

was talking to a different person than the one I left.

“Robert, I’m so glad you’ve finally seen the light. You

must call Julie immediately and fall on your knees to her for

forgiveness.”

I was incredulous. “But what about us? Don’t you want to

see me first. I’ve missed you so much.”

She was gentle and almost motherly toward me. “Oh Robert,

don’t you see that you and I were searching for something that

was a world of make believe. I feel so guilty for prolonging

this thing for so many years. What was I thinking of? I love

you, I also love Julie. I thought that the animal magnetism we

had for each other meant more than anything. Don’t you see how

wrong you were. I have a wonderful man in my life now. His name

is Albert and he is a retired professor of philosophy. We have

talked about the relationship I had with you and about my

terrible marriage and he understands everything. He thinks that

you should seek psychiatric counseling. He is such a wonderful

man. He wants to meet you.”

I was flabbergasted. “You told him about US? I can’t

believe it. No, no I don’t want to meet him. You once told me

that no matter who you were with, you would always love me and

would always be there for me.”

“I do love you and I will always be there for you but not

as a mistress. I’ll be there as a friend. Albert is here now.

He would like to talk to you.”

I couldn’t believe it when a male voice came on the line.

I hung up abruptly and went down to the bar and got stinking

drunk.

I spent the greater part of the next day feeling sorry for

myself, instead of finding joy at Ann Marie’s happiness. My

selfishness was at its apex that day. This woman had given me

her body and soul for thirty years and I was pissed off because

she was happy.

The next day, I called Julie. I was never so frightened

in my life as I dialed my number. When Julie answered, I almost

fainted. I said, simply, “Hello,” and could actually feel her

freeze on the other end of the phone. For all I knew, she too,

had found another man. I was greeted by what seemed like several

minutes of silence and then, surprisingly, she burst into tears.

“Where the hell have you been? The children and I have

been worried to death. You could have been dead by now … I.”

I cut her short and started to babble. “Julie, honey,

I’ve been sick … I mean mentally. I … I … I don’t know

what’s come over me. I want to come home. I need help … I

mean psychiatric help. Honey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Julie burst into tears. “Didn’t you care what was

happening to your children. Didn’t you care what was happening

to me?”

I couldn’t tell her that I knew everything was alright

through my conversations and letters with Ann Marie. I had to

pose as a man who left his family and didn’t care enough to find

out what was happening to them.

“I must have had some sort of a mental breakdown. Most of

what happened the last few months is a haze to me.” I hoped that

my desperate tone was convincing enough for Julie to believe me.

After all, I wasn’t completely untruthful. By this time I

realized that I was in great need of psychiatric counseling.

“We’ll talk about it when I see you. Where are you. Are

you in New York?”

I lied again. “I’m at international arrivals at JFK. Can

you pick me up?”

“Of course,” she said through her sobs. Stand in front of

customs in the pick up aisle. If there’s no traffic, I should be

there in about a haLf hour.”

“Okay honey,” I said, “I can’t wait to see you. I missed

you.”

***

Our reunion was tearful and went very well. Julie didn’t

reprimand me on the way home and it wasn’t until the children

came together with us that night that it got kind of

uncomfortable.

The children were angry. The boys especially were rather

unforgiving. Robin, my daughter showed some signs of forgiveness

and relief but the boys were definitely going to be a major

rehabilitation job as far as our relationship went.

Andrew and Gary were both straight arrows. Kids with

their feet on the ground who liked to see their father as a role

model. I felt a great sense of betraying them and my mood was

one of embarrassment and contrition.

I decided that I would bare my soul to my family as best I

could and try to get them back into my life.

“I want to say something to all of you. I’m ashamed of

what I did. All I know is that something snapped in my head and

I found myself running to Europe. I want you to think of me as

someone who has been ill, rather than a man who has so little

character that he would abandon his family.”

Again, I wasn’t completely telling a lie. I knew that my

womanizing was equivalent to other men’s alcoholism or drug

addiction. It was something I was too weak to control. The

desire for adventurous romance and sex was indeed a sickness in

me. I fully intended to get psychiatric help for the first time

in my life.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to find a good psychiatrist and put

myself in his care. If I have to go to some sort of rehab

center, I will. Meanwhile, I’m begging you all to love me. I

need all of you desperately. Please, please.”

Robin came over and hugged me, the tears running down her

pretty face. Julie kissed me tenderly on the forehead. The boys

just stared at me and nodded, I think, affirmatively.

***

Dr. Virginia McMullin was tall, tailored and very

attractive. My first impulse, I must admit, was to seduce her.

The good doctor, however, put that to rest immediately.

“Mr. Boyd, after what you and your wife have told me, my

first impulse is to send you to someone else. I am very familiar

with cases such as yours and I know, believe it or not, just what

you are thinking at this moment. I’m going to tell you this just

once. I have no interest in you except as a patient.”

She took a snapshot from her pocketbook. It was a picture

of a man who resembled Clint Eastwood, both in size and good

looks.

“I think it would help if you would look at this picture

of my husband. I love him very much and have no interest in

anyone else.”

I felt clearly emasculated and at no time during my

treatment did I ever have any intention of making time with Dr.

McMullin. I must admit to mentally undressing her from time to

time. She was very, very attractive.

For several months I saw Dr. McMullin three times a week.

After four months, she put me into a support group with three

other married men who had the same problem. At first, our

sessions were kind of like four guys sitting around bragging

about their sexual conquests. However, under the leadership of

Dr. McMullin, each of us came to terms with what we had become.

After a year had gone by, I started to feel as if I could

make it. Ann Marie had been married to Albert and seemed to be

very happy. It was difficult to call her because Albert was

retired and with her almost all of the time. I really had no

desire to be on the prowl for any woman. The only exception was

that I missed Ann Marie terribly. She had become such an

integral part of my life that she was the one thing I couldn’t

shake. Once I thought of calling Laura just out of curiosity but

found out to my surprise that I didn’t care at all. I wasn’t

really curious.

One day, when I was alone in the house, Ann Marie called

for Julie and I answered the phone.

She wasn’t even taken aback. “Hello Robert, I hear from

Julie that you are making tremendous strides. I’m so proud of

you.” The tone of her voice was so different.

“Can I talk, Ann Marie. Are you alone?”

“Yes, I’m alone. What is it you want to say?”

The question was still important to me. “I want to know

if you still love me?”

She seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Of course I still

love you. I’ll always love you, but don’t think we are going to

start again. It’s over Robert. I’ve been cured and I hope you

have as well.”

“I’ve been cured of everything but you. I want to see

you. Can’t we have lunch someday?”

The silence was unbearable. “Well?” I said.

“Yes, I will meet you but you must know that I am going to

tell Albert that I am meeting you. He will understand. Do you

still want to meet me?”

I picked out a small restaurant in Great Neck and met her

the following Tuesday.

She looked different to me than she had a year and one

half before. She had stopped coloring her hair and let it go

gray. She was dressed in a simple gray suit and looked all of

her sixty six years. I was suddenly conscious of the ten years

between us.

I was genuinely surprised when she tenderly took my hand

across the table.

“Robert, you gave me so many wonderful years. You

awakened a woman in me that I didn’t even know was there. I have

no regrets about our relationship. Now, I have reached another

phase of my life. Albert has brought a different woman out. I

am very happy and I hope you are too.”

It was a perfect beginning to our lunch. I loved this

woman but loved her so differently now. I realized you can’t go

home again and that the passionate phase of our relationship was

over.

The lunch was pleasant until just before it ended. Ann

Marie told me that she was dying. She was suffering from a form

of cancer that was slowly killing her. I cried when she told me

the news but her eyes were dry. She told me that she and Albert

had decided that they were going to live every day, one day at a

time and that she had come to terms with it. I drove home, tears

in my eyes, proud that I had the privilege of loving this

wonderful woman for all those years.

***

Six months later, she was dead. I couldn’t believe it.

She had been part of my life for such a long time. I thought

back to the first time I met her, way back in a simpler time,

back when I was young and full of fire and ambition. I thought

sadly back to those days. I thought of how exciting she had been

for me, through her whole life. I cried at her funeral, more

than I had ever cried in my life. I drove to the cemetery with

Julie and she thought nothing of my great grief for Ann Marie,

since after all, she had been a good friend of the family for all

these years. I thought to myself, “Well, cara mia, we got away

with it. Thirty plus years and no one ever knew”. At the

funeral, I paid my respects to Albert and to Ann Marie’s son. I

didn’t go back to her house for the post funeral food and

socializing. I couldn’t bear to be there. Just before we left

the cemetery, Albert took me aside. “Robert, I would like to

meet you for lunch one day, perhaps next week. I hope you can

see your way clear to accepting.” There was something about him

that made me very comfortable. He was a large man and stood

quite erect for a man his age, maybe seventy five or so. He had

a large mustache and his white hair was worn long over his ears.

He had a patrician air about him.

“Of course,” I said, “How about next Thursday at Monicas?”

“That would be fine,” he said and disappeared with the

rest of the funeral cortege.

When I left, I realized that I had picked the very

restaurant where I had my last lunch with Ann Marie. The thought

made me sad, and I was quiet and introspective during the ride

home with Julie.

***

Albert and I toasted Ann Marie with our wine and both of

us shed unabashed tears.

“Robert, I will be to the point. I asked you here today

because I wanted to tell you that I appreciate the happiness you

brought to my beloved Ann Marie these many years. I know that

you must think I resent you. Quite the contrary, my friend. She

led such a miserable life with that monster she was married to.