Ghosts of Manhattan: A Novel(36)

I say this with a smile and in the most pleasant tone I can manage, as I watch the horror in Julia’s eyes. There is a sociopathic disconnect between the smile on my face and the crime of my words.

For the first time I realize that if Julia starts anything with Oliver, it isn’t about any passionate love affair with him. She has a need and wants to fill it. She evaluates options, sees that fixing me isn’t working, and decides Oliver can do the job.

Everyone is eager to leave the table and the restaurant. My attempted pleasant tone didn’t mask the malice and I’m also visibly drunk. We skip coffee and pay the check. After a mumbled good-bye to Sybil and Oliver, I take Julia’s coat off the hook on the wall and help her put it on. Without turning to look, I notice Oliver doing the same for Sybil on the other side of the table. Julia and I walk straight for the door first. No one looks back at anyone.

I wonder what kind of * can turn as cruel to his wife as I do if threatened and angry. I tell myself I have a little mean streak, which plenty of good people do. Nothing more to self-analyze than that. I’m too drunk to have a conversation with Julia about it tonight, and that’s my rationale to leave it alone for now, though I know damn well we’ll never address it. It’s too easy for us to avoid things and I hate that kind of conversation anyway.

We hail a taxi and ride home in silence.





13 | THE TONE OF HER VOICE


December 16, 2005

WITH A CLEAR HEAD THE NEXT MORNING, MY GUILT IS more acute. Julia lets me out of the apartment without showing any signs that she’s awake, and our avoidance is successful. I make it back in the office with a hangover no worse than normal. I take a coffee, a bottle of water, an egg sandwich, and two Advil back to my desk and begin to get my head straight. This is our version of an athlete warming up for a match.

I realize that I crossed a line with Julia. I compromised private information and used it in a sinister way. I don’t even believe the awful judgments I made about her, but I had felt cornered and the instinct to be lethal. She and I are in new territory now. I don’t know if there is a way to recover or if there is an urge to anyway.

I feel so unhappy that it’s hard to keep a grounded view of what’s happening around me. It’s possible there’s nothing even close to the beginnings of an affair. It’s just an innocent flirtation that I’ve blown out of proportion because I view it all through the haze of my own morally bankrupt lifestyle and increasingly lonely marriage. It’s hard to depend on my eyes when my imagination is out of focus.

William walks by. He still has his three-button suit jacket but he has at least taken it off and put it over the back of his chair. Progress. “Breakfast of champions?”

I nod, indicating I’m not in a mood for conversation.

“Farmer!” It’s Jerry from his desk behind me. “Knicks game tonight?”

“Christ. No way. They suck and I’m exhausted.”

“You’ll be feeling fine by noon.” Jerry will occasionally get the cocaine going in the office if the hangovers are really bad. It works, but I always feel lousy about it and don’t want to do it today.

“Hey, Nick.” I look across at Ron, who has a phone to his ear and is seated next to William. “It’s for you on line four-four-two-oh.” Anyone I know calls my direct line. If a person comes in through the general line for the desk, it is either someone I don’t know or someone I know and don’t want to talk to.

I pick up the receiver and press the flashing button for 4420. “Hello.”

“Hey, Nick. Oliver.” His voice sounds cheery, like an old friend I haven’t seen for months who just got in town for a visit. Oliver. Jesus, what is this guy up to?

“Oliver who?”

“Funny. You dragging a little after last night?” I think he references last night just in case I was serious about Oliver who.

“No, I’m fine. Slept like a baby.”

“Good. Good. We had a great time with you two. And Sybil really adores Julia.” Really. This is the Sybil that managed about twenty words all evening.

“Sybil seems very nice.” My Spidey senses are tingling. I feel like a field mouse being circled by a hawk.

There is a pause just longer than normal. “Say, Nick, I’m calling to see about that squash game. I have a court reserved at the Racquet Club. Six p.m. on Thursday. Can you make it?”

Incredible. He’s like a Mafia don. Keep your enemies closer. “No, can’t make it on Thursday. Got some stuff going on.”

“Okay.” He maintains his cheery tone. “I’m there all the time, so we can find a time that works soon.” For a moment I worry that he’s going to propose a bunch of possible dates to get together, making a casual brush-off more difficult, but he lets it go.

“Sure.”

“And let’s look into another dinner soon with the gals. That was a lot of fun.” That is an impossible description. I had thought all four of us were having a bad time before I got drunk and especially bad after. His motivation can’t be fun for the four of us. He seems like a tactician without conscience or remorse. I wonder if he spoke with Julia to contrive this plan to call me and befriend me and draw me in, but I dismiss it as paranoia. Julia doesn’t have that in her.

“We’ll take a look at calendars.”