He took Marcia’s arm-he was so hot her skin felt like ice-pulled her up.
“Hey,” said the man with the sheet wrapped around him, or “What the hell,” or something like that, or maybe he just thought it, and then he was flat on the bed, bouncing off the wall, actually, thumping it with his head, sagging back down, his fancy haircut all messed up.
“Grant,” Marcia said, trying to go to him, but Roy wouldn’t let her.
“With Rhett in the house,” he said.
“He’s not in the house.”
But Roy didn’t hear. “With Rhett in the house.” Roy led her out of the room. Not led: it wasn’t gentle like that. Out in the hall, he closed the door, let the whole house feel its closing, down to the foundation.
“He’s not in the house.”
Roy heard it that time, in the silence that followed the closing of the door, the whole house trembling.
“You sent Barry out with him?”
“Stop it, Roy.”
“You sent Barry out with him so you could, so you could…” The words, blow job and others, stuck in his throat.
“Barry’s in Houston,” Marcia said, trying to tug free. “Rhett’s at school.”
“Lie to my face?” Roy said, his hand suddenly so strong it could squeeze right through her arm. “He’s suspended.”
“They let him back.”
“What do you mean-they let him back?”
“I asked them.”
“You asked them?”
“Let go of me.”
He wouldn’t let go.
“Don’t spoil it, Roy.”
“Don’t spoil what?”
“How I think of you.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
Marcia shook her head. “If you hadn’t canceled dinner the other night…”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“That’s when Grant called.”
“So?” But he started to remember, remember how he’d canceled the steak dinner after hearing the message from the hospital, how Marcia had got a beep as they were saying good-bye.
“It might not have happened, Roy. But it did.”
“What did?”
“We went to New York.”
It came together in his mind. “He’s your doctor?”
“Yes.”
“The one who gave you the new lips?”
She nodded.
“And now he’s putting them to use.”
With her free hand, she hit him in the face, a raking blow. He didn’t stop her. She started to cry, very ugly, with cawing sounds and snotty nose. “I have a right,” she said.
“What right?”
“To be happy.”
Roy didn’t say, We can be happy, or I can make you happy. That belief was dying, dying, dead. He let go. She covered her breasts. The name came to him: spaghetti straps. “What were you doing with me, then?” he said.
“That’s what I don’t want you to spoil.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What happened between us at the end, it made it like that movie where they always have Paris. We’ll always have that other night, and that day at the gym.”
“You think that makes sense?”
“Grant’s fellowship is up next week. I’m going back with him to New York. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”
“You keep saying that. Go.”
“I’m taking Rhett.”
“You’re not.”
“I am. I’ve already called my lawyer.”
“I’ll call mine.”
“It won’t do you any good. I have custody, and they look at what’s best for the child. Rhett’s going to be living in a four-story brownstone in Park Slope, with all the advantages. A good steady job like yours is not the same as a doctor’s salary in the eyes of the court.”
The bedroom door opened at that moment and Grant appeared in a shirt and boxer shorts. Overweight, like Barry, but much shorter, with monogrammed initials on his chest and a Porsche in the driveway. Roy thought, good steady job, and pushed him back in the room. Thump. And closed the door. Bang.
Roy looked down at Marcia, covering her breasts. A bruise was already rising to the surface of her upper arm. She was shaking. He was too. He turned and walked away.
Roy went home. Where else? He could go to a diner, a bar, the gym: all dismal. He went home, dismal too. He paced in one room, then another. He sat down. He remembered the night Marcia had slept with him, the night that began their brief affair, as she’d called it, and how Grant, Dr. Nordman, had phoned her cell. How fast he’d worked, or she, or the two of them together: she hadn’t even known his first name that night. Roy got up, paced some more. Pacing was better than sitting.
Roy tried to think. He thought: I can bear losing my job. I can bear losing Marcia. But Rhett? No. Not because if he didn’t have Rhett the past eleven years would add up to nothing, although that was true: but just because he had to be with him, his son.
He called Curtis.
“Hi, Roy. How are you do-”
“I want that New York job.”
“There were no guarantees, Roy. The opportunity to apply is what’s being offered.”
“Good enough.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m going to fly up today.”
“Fly where?”
“New York. To meet them.”
“Meet who?”
“Whoever’s doing the interview, for Christ sake.”
“I don’t even know if the job’s still available.”
“Find out.” Roy was dimly aware that he’d said that much too loud.
Curtis spoke more softly, balancing it out. “I’ll call you back,” he said.
The phone rang within five minutes.
“They like the sound of you,” Curtis said.
“Thanks, Curtis.”
“You don’t have to fly up. They can do a video interview.”
“When?”
“Next Tuesday, one thirty.” He heard Curtis take a deep breath. “Or today, at four forty-five. But that’s pretty short notice, and everyone will understand if-”
“I’ll be there.” Roy checked his watch. Three fifty-two.
“Sure you wouldn’t prefer Tuesday, Roy? Maybe take a little time to collect your-”
“I’m on my way,” Roy said.
