impressive figure in his light gray suit and dark blue tie. His hands are folded over his chest as though he is waiting for an apology.
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about,” I tell him, forgetting every lesson that Morris Young has tried to teach me. I might as well be one of the boys he tries to save from the corner, doing my macho styling for the sake of macho styling.
“Misha, I’ll see you,” says Dana, still grinning, but weakly now. She wants no part of what is about to occur. “Call me.”
“Dana, wait…”
“Let her go,” Jerry Nathanson commands. “We need to talk alone.”
I look him up and down, moving the Columbia Law Review to my left hand, perhaps to free up my right. Then I force myself to calm down. I shake my head. “No, Jerry. I can’t just now. I’m busy.” Showing him the book. “Maybe some other time.”
As I try to walk around him, he grabs my arm. “Don’t you walk away from me.”
My fury is about to boil over. “Let go of my arm, please,” I whisper without turning around. I am aware that a couple of students are jostling and pointing, which means that a crowd will shortly be gathering.
“I just want to talk,” mutters Jerry, also noticing the attention we are drawing.
“I don’t know how many different ways I can say that I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Don’t make a scene, Talcott.”
“You’re telling me not to make a scene?” I glare, wondering if I am supposed to punch him. Surely there exists somewhere a rule book for the behavior of a cuckolded husband upon meeting the likely object of his wife’s affection.
“Calm down, Talcott.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I am about to say more, but I restrain myself, for his fifties movie-star features no longer look angry. Instead, he looks puzzled.
“I have to go,” I tell him, walking around him and striding for the exit. I can hear him hurrying behind me, and I begin to move faster. Now half the students in the law school seem to be watching, along with a faculty colleague or two. Still, nothing to do but get out and worry about the rest later.
Jerry catches up with me just outside the ornate double doors marking the main entrance to the library. “What’s the matter with you, Talcott? I just wanted to talk to you.”
I have had enough of self-restraint. I swing around in bright red fury. “What is it, Jerry? What exactly do you want?”
“Here? You want to talk here?”
“Why not? You’ve been chasing me all over the law school.”
He draws himself up. “Well, in the first place, I wanted to tell you congratulations, in advance. About your wife, I mean. She told me”-he glances around, but now that we are outside the library, the few students standing around pretend not to be listening-“she told me, uh, about Professor Hadley.”
In bed? On your office sofa? Despite the promise I made to Dr. Young, I am not able to shake off my anger-or perhaps my anguish-now that I am face to face with Jerry Nathanson. “Professor Hadley has not taken his name out of the hat,” I snap.
“Oh. Oh. I didn’t know that.”
We have somehow started walking again, down the dimly lighted corridor toward my office. No students have dared follow, but a few office doors are standing open, and we might still be overheard.
“Well, it’s true,” I mutter. “It seems that Professor Hadley thinks he can explain it all away, that it’s all a big misunderstanding.”
“I see.” Jerry’s voice is small and hesitant. He tries a smile. We are standing outside my door. “Well, I’m sure your wife will get the job.”
And it pours out of me. “My wife. My wife. My wife!”
He tilts his head to one side, eyes narrowed. “Yes. Your wife.”
“I want you to stay away from her.”
“Stay away from her? We work together.”
“You know exactly what I mean, Jerry. Don’t play games with me.”
“I do know what you mean, Talcott, and… and it’s completely ridiculous.” Jerry’s astonishment seems so genuine that I am sure he is playing me. “I don’t know how you could think… I mean, me and Kimberly? What would give you an idea like that?”
“Maybe the fact that it’s true.”
“It isn’t true. Please don’t think that.” He rubs his hands over his face. “Your wife… Kimberly… she, uh, she told me a few months ago that you seemed to think that there was something, uh, between us. I thought she was joking. Please, Talcott, believe me.” His eyes grow earnest, and, for a second time, he puts an uninvited hand on my arm. “I happen to be a happily married man, Talcott. My relationship with your wife is nothing but professional. It has never been anything but professional. And it never will be anything but professional.” Waiting for this to sink in. “Your wife is the best lawyer in the firm, the best lawyer in the city, the best lawyer in this part of the state. Maybe I… maybe we work her too hard, maybe we keep her away from home too much, but, Talcott, please believe me when I say that it is only work that is keeping her away.”
“I don’t know why I should believe you,” I sneer, but I am on less certain ground now, and we both know it. I have shot off my ammunition, but all my powder was wet. Maybe it is Jack Ziegler, or the Judge, at whom I should be venting my fury.
Jerry Nathanson steps back again. He is no longer nervous. He is a fine lawyer and knows when he has the advantage. When he speaks again, his voice is cold. “Your wife also told me you were behaving in what she called an irrational manner. I told her not to worry, but I guess she was right as usual.”
“She told you what?”
“That your behavior is starting to frighten her.”
This is too much. I step close to him. It is all I can do not to grab him by the front of his hand-tailored shirt. “I don’t want you discussing me with my wife.” I do not realize how absurd this sounds until I have said it. “I don’t want you discussing anything with my wife.”
“I have a news flash for you, Talcott.” Jerry’s own anger rises afresh. He jabs a finger at me. “You need some serious medical help. Maybe a psychiatrist.”
Ah, but men are horrible! I slap his finger away and say something equally useful: “If you don’t stay away from my wife, Jerry, you’re going to need some serious medical help yourself.”
His face reddens. “That’s a threat, Talcott. Do you hear yourself? That’s just the sort of thing Kimberly was talking about.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Jerry.”
“Oh, yeah?” He taps the front of my sweater, goading me. “And what do you intend to do about it?”
“Don’t push it,” I snarl. He laughs. Were we not a couple of intellectuals in an Ivy League town, we would no doubt come to blows. As it is, we shove a bit. Probably I shove harder. Even though I can see we are attracting a fresh audience, I cannot make myself back down, the world is too red around me. “Just stay away from my wife.”
“You’re crazy, Talcott.” He composes himself with an effort, backs away, breathing hard. “Get some help.”
When Jerry has gone, all of Oldie is staring at me.
CHAPTER 42
“We’re a little concerned about you,” says Lynda Wyatt without preamble.
“I know.'
I am determined to be contrite. Dean Lynda called me on Tuesday afternoon and asked me-told me, really-to
