Burning Time

“Oh, I see,” Charles replied. “Emma’s in a movie. That’s great.”

“You haven’t heard anything from anybody?” Jason demanded.

“No. I haven’t. What’s the big deal? What’s the matter with it?”

Jason took a deep breath. “It’s a porno film.”

“Jesus.” Charles’s mouth dropped open. “Emma in a porno film?”

“Well, it’s not a porno film. It’s an art film. But she—” Jason sniffed. “She plays the part of a young woman in therapy. With this guy who’s a creep. And there’s no sound in their sessions.”

“Jesus.” Charles shook his head as if he had water in his ears.

“It’s a really disturbing film. It makes therapy look … evil.”

“And there’s—sex in it?”

“Yeah. Emma fucks this hoodlum. She’s—really nude. And she really does it. Well, it looks like it. You don’t see penetration. We’ve seen penetration on the screen.”

They both pushed a little air out of their noses, remembering the sex clinic training, the films for doctors showing sex between all kinds of people—Very fat. Old. People with colostomies. Paraplegics. They had seen a number of films made to teach doctors and staff at hospitals that the desire for love and sex didn’t politely go away when people were old or ill, disfigured or disabled.

“Ahh.” Charles scratched his chin. “I’m stunned.”

“Yeah. Well, so was I.”

“She didn’t tell you about it?”

“No, she didn’t tell me. I don’t know what happened. I don’t understand how she could do it. I just don’t understand. If I could understand …” He shook his head again. “It’s a horrible thing to see your wife … I’m a doctor.”

“It’s upsetting.” Charles sat there with his mouth open. “But it’s—just a film. It’s not all bad. You can find your way together.” He murmured consoling words, hardly knowing what he was saying. He heard terrible, distressing things from his patients all the time, but personally he lived in a world where cheating a little on one’s spouse was about as bad as a person could get.

“But it is so bad. She got great reviews. This horrid film where this poor girl ends up getting herself tattooed—”

“She’s tattooed? Jesus,” Charles interrupted.

“That’s how it ends.”

“Jesus, is she really tattooed?”

“Of course not, it’s a movie.”

“Jason, this is amazing.”

“Yeah, well, it’s taken over our lives. She’s being pursued by these big-shot agents. She’s got movie offers.”

“Jesus,” Charles said a fifth time.

“She’s fucked her way into the big time, Charles, and I’m just—” Jason turned away.

“Afraid you’re going to lose her? Of course you are, but you know you love each other.”

“Oh, man, if she could do this, I lost her a long time ago.” Jason covered his face with his hands.

Charles put his arm around him again. “God, this is—I don’t know what to say.”

“And the worst thing is nothing will stop her. Not the letters. Not anything—” Jason stopped.

“What letters?”

“Ah, well, it’s not your problem. Forget it.”

“Come on, Jason, look at me. We’ve been through a lot together. What letters? Maybe I can help.”

“Not this time, old buddy.” Abruptly, Jason stood up. “Come on. We’ve left the girls alone together long enough.”

19

“They want us,” Ronnie said excitedly on the phone.

“Who does?” Emma asked. She had been in the shower when the phone rang.

“I don’t know. Jack does, and Albert. They want us. You.”

“Oh, right,” Emma said. Jack and Albert. Sure. She cocked her head. A flash of light was reflected off the mirror. “Jason?” she called.

“What?” Ronnie demanded. “Emma? Are you there?”

“Sorry. I thought there was—”

“Did you hear what I said? We got a callback on Wind,” Ronnie said.

“Yeah, I heard you, but it can’t be, Ronnie. I told you I was awful, really awful. And gorgeous, famous Bill North was awful, too. His breath stank. It was the worst audition I ever had.” Emma grimaced, thinking about it. “It was bad.”

“Well, Elinor said Jack said you were a delight.”

Jack? Ronnie was calling the producer, whom she had never met, Jack. And the director Albert? What a business.

“Jack was so delighted he never took the corned beef sandwich out of his mouth,” Emma said.

“Jack’s a great producer.” Ronnie bristled. “What’s the matter with you? I thought you’d be thrilled.”

“I’m thrilled,” Emma said. “What time do I have to be there?”

A minute later she dialed Jason’s number. His office was two walls away in what used to be a wing of the apartment. He had a separate entrance. He couldn’t get into the apartment from his office without going out into the hall. He had deliberately designed it that way.

He picked up. “Dr. Frank,” he said.

“Jason, were you just here?”

“What?”

“I think someone was here a minute ago. Was it you?” Emma demanded.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She hesitated. “Well, no, not really. I just thought …” What did she think? That her own husband was trying to scare her? That was crazy.

“I’m with someone,” he said.

“Oh, sorry.” She hung up. That’s what they always said: I’m with someone. “Never need a shrink,” she muttered. “They’re always with someone.”

She felt like a fool for bothering him. She dried her hair, then went out to do the shopping. The old resentment, that he was always busy, always involved with someone else, gnawed at her, making her feel both hurt and lonely at the same time. She often wondered if other doctors’ wives, particularly the wives of psychiatrists, felt as isolated and cut off from their husbands as she did. Or if her loneliness had nothing to do with him and was a throwback from her childhood when help and reassurance were out of the question.

Jason came home as the hallway clock was chiming eight-fifteen.

“Come here, darling,” he said. He hugged her and took her hands. He examined them carefully, as if searching for disease. The backs of her hands were still young and smooth. Her fingers were slender and flawless. He turned them over and kissed the palms.

“You shouldn’t have hung up,” he murmured. “You were upset. I could have taken a minute.”

“What could I have said in a minute?” she asked.

“Whatever you wanted. I know these letters are getting you down. There was another one today, wasn’t there?”

“They’re not getting me down,” Emma said, dismissing the subject.

She picked up the script Ronnie had sent her for the next day’s audition.

“Well, you’re very tense for someone who says she’s not upset. Maybe you should take some medicine.”