The Unforgiving Minute (7 page)

She stalked into the second bedroom and locked the door.

I spent the entire night alternately feeling guilty and

worrying that she was again attempting suicide. I didn’t sleep

for more than a few moments. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. I

knew now why Laura leaving me hurt me so. It was because I

didn’t leave her, she left me. I was a bastard after all. This

was bothering me, but not nearly as much.

The sixty-mile drive to Nice Airport was interminable.

She was booked to Detroit via Paris and Chicago and I was booked

to London. She accepted the tickets and my check for twenty

thousand dollars. I don’t think she really wanted to take them,

but, considering the alternative, she accepted without a word of

thanks. We didn’t speak for the entire trip. Thank God it

wasn’t the tourist season. The trip to the airport would have

taken hours instead of less than one hour. I parked the car in a

lot and saw her to the counter and helped her check in. I never

thought to ask if her passport was in order until we got to the

airport. Luckily, it was. I walked her to security for domestic

departures. She walked through, her back to me, and I watched

her till she was almost out of sight. At the last moment, she

turned around. We stared at each other from afar for a long

time. Finally, she waved, and I could read her lips. They just

said, “Thanks.”

I went out to turn in the car and check in my own luggage.

There was time between flights and I needed a drink. As I sat in

the airport bar quietly drinking alone, I felt emptier than ever.

Chapter 4

I sat in the back seat of a Jaguar, which was chauffeuring

me to Claridge’s Hotel in the Mayfair section of London. This

was probably my favorite stopping place in the world. I closed

my eyes and took stock of my thoughts and feelings. I still

missed Jane and felt regretful for ending our affair. I didn’t

miss Laura at all and wished with all my heart that I could take

back the note I wrote her before I left. The concept that I put

my feelings for her in the same class as my feelings for my

parents was now an utter embarrassment and source of guilt to me.

I would call Ann Marie this evening and report everything that

had transpired since our last conversation. I looked forward to

talking to her. I knew that she would soothe me and make things

better. I had given myself a mission: spend two weeks in London

and enjoy it without the company of women. I wanted desperately

to cure my addiction. It might be easy because all I wanted now

was Jane. If Laura was an example, though, could I forget Jane

unless I found someone else? It was a trap that was tearing me

apart. My head ached and I couldn’t wait to get to the hotel,

take a few aspirins and a drink, and sleep for about twelve

hours.

It was the evening rush hour in London and it doesn’t

matter which direction you are traveling. It’s every bit as slow

as any other large metropolis in the world. We pulled up at the

hotel on Brook Street and I was immediately besieged with the

most courteous and efficient service. I was escorted into an

office off the main lobby and seated in a comfortable chair. The

manager greeted me with, “Welcome back, Mr. Boyd. It’s so nice

to see you again.” Claridges has always been noted for its

service, but if you are a repeat guest, all stops are pulled out.

The manager was dressed in tails, as was the young man who showed

me to my room. We waited for the lift and I looked around,

drinking in the scene around me. Claridges doesn’t really look

like a hotel. It is more like a large mansion. There is much

marble in the lobby area, yet it is extremely tasteful. The

carpeting looks old, but is in immaculately new condition. The

public rooms are charmingly Victorian. It’s the kind of elegance

that defines the word. Just past the desk, straight on, is a

beautiful sitting room where drinks are served. To its left is a

charming tea room where afternoon high tea is a must for any

visitor to London. To its right is an elegant dining room, one

of two in the hotel.

I was shown to my room and it was, as usual, extremely

comfortable. The bathtub was even larger than the one in France

and the shower head was about twenty-four inches in diameter and

played straight down on one’s head. The diameter of the holes in

the shower head was quite large. A shower at Claridges was like

standing in a summer rain. Each room had three buttons on the

wall. They were for maid, butler, and valet. I had in previous

trips the occasion to use each of them. They brought a guest

everything from room service to tailoring. My luggage was in the

room when I got there. Try to beat that in America. Of course,

no one was standing around for a tip, either. After the usual

showing of amenities, the young man departed. I took two

aspirins and stood under the hot shower for about fifteen

minutes. I had pushed the butler button before entering the

shower and when I re-entered the room there was a bucket of ice

and glasses on a tray. I poured myself a large vodka on the

rocks and turned on the telly. I sat there in my terry robe,

drinking and watching the BBC News. I intended to wait until

midnight London time and call Ann Marie. I was sitting in a

comfortable chair with a large hassock and I felt myself getting

drowsy. I put down the drink and dozed off in the chair. When I

awoke, I thought I was in bed in St. Tropez and reached out for

Jane’s body. When I opened my eyes and found myself sleeping in

a chair in London, I was terribly depressed. I looked at my

watch. It was three a.m. This was the perfect time to call Ann

Marie. It was nine o’clock in New York. During our daylight

savings time, there is a six-hour difference in time instead of

the usual five. I direct-dialed her number and it rang about

twenty times before I gave up. I was distraught and even

somewhat angry when I couldn’t get her. I tried every half hour

for about two hours until I fell asleep on the bed from sheer

exhaustion.

I awoke at ten a.m. It was still a bit too early to try

Ann Marie again so I decided to call her about one o’clock London

time. I don’t drink in the morning so I had to find another way

to cope with my depression. I took another hot, delightful

shower and shaved. The weather in London was about sixty-two

degrees and sunny so I dressed in a glen-plaid sports jacket,

white shirt, Argyle and Sutherland-highlanders regimental tie,

and grey flannel slacks. The tie was British with the stripes

slanting “from the heart” as opposed to American ties which slant

in the other direction. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was

tanned from my time on the Riviera and looked extremely well. I

immediately equated this with my attractiveness to women before I

remembered my recent vow of celibacy. I decided to look up some

British friends while I was here that I considered safe for me.

First and foremost, I was starving and was looking forward to

breakfast.

I picked up a copy of the Herald-Tribune and sat at a

table in the main dining room which overlooked a garden. I

purposely sat facing the window so that I would not indulge in my

usual habit of scanning the room for available women. I had yet

another English, high-cholesterol, high-fat breakfast, consisting

of eggs, sausages, and toast with great gobs of butter and

marmalade. The coffee was comparable to American coffee and was

my first great cup of coffee since arriving in Europe. After

breakfast I returned to my room to brush my teeth and freshen up

before my day began. I was particularly interested in contacting

one of the most interesting gentlemen I had ever met in my world—

wide travels. I had been to London on several occasions to

address associations of businessmen and other groups. I was in

constant demand as a lecturer on business management. My books

were widely read in Great Britain and I am somewhat of a

household name in the field. In 1981, I had lectured at the

University of London. The convention I was addressing ended with

a kind of farewell dinner. The principal speaker at the dinner

was a Professor John Dinsmore, a well-known writer and teacher in

the field of philosophy. Julie and I expected to be bored out of

our minds and thought it rather odd that a festive dinner should

be ruined by listening to a lecturer on philosophy. We were most

pleasantly surprised, however, when Professor Dinsmore turned out

to be one of the funniest stand-up comedians we had ever heard.

There have been times when British humor has been

incomprehensible to the American taste, but his humor was

universal and the laughs were loud and plentiful. It seems that

comedy started out as a hobby with Dinsmore and after keeping

friends and students alike laughing for many years, his wife

encouraged him to speak at various functions. John Dinsmore

looks every inch the professor. He is tall, thin, and has wavy

grey hair and wears glasses. He dresses mostly in tweed jackets

and sedate ties. His general demeanor is quiet, reserved, and

dignified. This makes him all the more hilarious as he spouts

his wry, low-keyed sense of humor. His jokes run the gamut from

poking fun at the British way of life to an hilarious monologue

on pantyhose, which in Britain are called tights. After his

performance, I sought him out. He knew of me, which flattered me

very much, and we retired to the bar with our wives for an after—

dinner drink. His wife, Christine, was as charming as he was.

She was a tall, rather ungainly woman with a pleasant face that

was almost pretty. The both of them were the kind of people

whose looks grow on you the longer you know them. The four of us

hit it off wonderfully and became fast friends. They had been

married for fourteen years and had no children. She was a

physical therapist and had a career of her own. They seemed to

get along as well as any couple we’d ever met. When Julie and I

returned to the hotel, she had a few words to say about the

deferential way John treated Christine. I, in turn, had a few

words to say about the deferential way Christine treated John.

We became fast friends, exchanging letters and Christmas cards

and visiting with them each time one or both of us came to

London. I thought that spending some time with this

extraordinary couple would be just the therapy I needed. I knew

I couldn’t get through to John at this time of the day, so I

called Chris at her clinic.

“Robert, darling, I can’t believe you’re in London. Is

Julie with you?”

“Uh … no … not this time. I’m here alone.”

We caught each other up on some mutual interests, but I

was very careful not to mention the true circumstances of my

visit.

“You must come for dinner. How is tomorrow night for you?

If you’re busy, we can make it later in the week?”

“Tomorrow night would be great. I’ll look forward to it.”

I was a bit disappointed that the invitation was for

tomorrow and not this evening. In my current state of mind, I

didn’t want to be alone. As soon as I hung up, without thinking

of the time, I direct-dialed Ann Marie.

Her sleepy voice sounded incredibly sexy to me, but I

apologized instantly for not checking the time difference. I

told her immediately of my breakup with Jane and of my present

location.

“You’re on the right track, but you must come home. I

have an idea. You don’t have to tell anyone else you’re home.

Move in with me and I’ll soothe you and make you whole again.

After all our fantasies about living together, we can actually do

it.”

To say I was taken aback by this proposal was a gross

understatement. Ann Marie was now sixty-three years old. She

looked magnificent. Over the years she had turned from Anna

Magnani to Sophia Loren. She had acquired a sophistication in

dress and behavior that added to her sensuality. I know her age

didn’t bother me. We’d been together so long that I didn’t even

notice. I think what bothered me was that in our present

relationship she tolerated my other women and was almost able to

function as a male friend would. I thought that the magic might

die if we ever entered into a traditional relationship.

“I miss you, too, Ann Marie and I want you a lot. I was

considering having you fly over here, but I was afraid if we were

both gone together, Julie would put two and two together.”

Ann Marie was probably the only woman in my life I had

never lied to and here I was lying to her with great creativity.

I had never for a moment considered sending for her. I was

lonely, though, and, if she said yes, I might very well bring her

over.

“You’re right, Robert. You always were the smart one.”

The woman clearly worshipped me. I could never really do

anything wrong in her eyes.

“Please, Robert, I’m begging you … come home. This trip

is madness.” As the sleep left her voice, she thought and spoke

more clearly.

“You know, I have always supported everything you’ve done.

This time I’m not supporting you. You must come home. I can’t

take this any more. It’s bad enough loving someone like you and

having to lead separate lives all these years, but this … this

is ridiculous. I sit thousands of miles away and wait for your

phone calls.”

She started to sob audibly. In all the years I had known

her, I never heard her cry. “If you don’t come home, stop

calling me. I’m getting tired of this role.”

I was utterly distraught. “Please, Ann Marie, you’re all

I have. I need you.”

She continued to sob. “Oh, you fool, I’m not all you

have. Take stock of your life. Don’t call me anymore. This is

too upsetting. If you don’t come home, write as often as you

can, and I’ll know how you’re doing. If you keep calling me like

this and disappointing me, it will be too painful.”

This was a totally unexpected reaction. Ann Marie was the

most pliant person in my life. She would always do my bidding.

We had never had an argument, simply for that reason. I was

aghast and didn’t know what to say. “Ann Marie, don’t be

foolish. I need you a lot. If I don’t know that I can call you,

I’ll be very unhappy.”

She paused for what seemed to be a long time. “I’m not

going to change my mind, Robert. Write to me from wherever you

are and I’ll be happy to hear from you. The next time you talk

to me, I want to hear that you’re coming home.”