didn't care. She didn't think he was any different from any other successful businessman. She had no problem with the morality of what he did or that she was about to become a part of it. She had no problem with anything until the wedding.
They spent almost all their time together in the several months before the big event. They talked incessantly – he was bright and witty and surprisingly learned. He made her feel ignorant and during that period she began to read again. History, mostly, which he encouraged, but novels, too. And biographies of businessmen and politicians and leaders of social movements. He liked to entertain and she proved herself a good hostess. She could be warm and inviting as well as invisible, and she had an instinctive awareness when each talent was needed. Sex between them was fine. Not the best she'd ever had but passionate and quite physical and sometimes romantic because they really were in love.
The ceremony was at a grandiose Catholic church in mid-Long Island; the party was at Joe's father's estate nearby. An elegant and tasteful affair. Perhaps five hundred people, maybe ten of whom were her friends. She knew that after the marriage those friendships would fade and, before long, disappear, but that was all right with her, too. She didn't care.
What she did care about happened while they were cutting the wedding cake.
He'd put the ring on her finger, they'd taken their vows. Their kiss was long and lingering and people cheered and applauded. They danced, a wonderful-looking couple gliding across the floor, then they moved to the table with the three-tier chocolate cherry creation. She picked up the knife, smiling and loving, went to cut the dessert, but he moved so quickly, his hand just shot out, grabbing hers, covering it. And suddenly she realized she couldn't move her hand, he was squeezing it, and very quietly he said, 'Not by yourself. With me. We do it together. You don't do anything by yourself. Not now, not ever again.'
For a moment she thought he was kidding. She smiled questioningly and said, 'Honey, what are you…?' She didn't finish her sentence because she didn't have to. By then she'd seen the look in his eyes. And it terrified her. Made her knees buckle. He thought it was all the excitement. He thought it was the overpowering pleasure of the moment. But it wasn't.
What she saw when she looked in his eyes was: You're mine.
She'd become a possession. His possession.
They got on the plane several hours later, flew down to Peter Island in the Caribbean, where they had a spectacular four-bedroom villa overlooking the sea, on top of the hillside, with a cook and a maid and a chauffeur to take them to the beach or to town for shopping, all just for the two of them. They ate slowly and kissed and groped each other during the marvelous dinner, then they made love, slowly and lovingly. It was so wonderful she thought that maybe she was way off base; he had been joking when they'd stood at the wedding cake. The thought made her happy, so she kissed him, started babbling, just because she was so relieved. She told him what she'd been thinking about doing with the house, she didn't want a decorator, she would do it, if it took longer so be it, but they'd be sure to love everything that was around them And that's when he spoke. Said those words that chilled her to the bone.
'When we have our kids,' he said, 'the names are already picked out.'
She didn't understand at first. But she stopped her babbling and just said, 'What?'
So he repeated it. And when she looked at him, confused, he said, matter-of-factly, 'I just want you to know that everything's decided already. Today, tomorrow, two years from now. It's already done. Do you understand what I'm saying?'
She did indeed. She understood all too well. What he was saying was: You belong to me. That's what his eyes had said at the wedding, and that's what he was saying there, by the sea, while they were naked on the floor of the villa. It's what his eyes would always say now, and she knew it was true.
She did belong to him. And she hated it.
She hated him because of it.
She had her first affair the day before their first wedding anniversary.
It wasn't an easy thing to arrange, not at the beginning. She couldn't stay too close to home. But she'd gone back to school to finish her college degree and there, at NYU, in an undergraduate business class, she seduced her professor. He didn't know who she was, who Joe was, and the affair lasted a month until he found out. She didn't mind when he said he couldn't see her anymore. She was already bored with him. And she already knew she was going to get an A in the class.
It was not a spectacular affair, as far as affairs go, but it was exhilarating to her. Remarkably freeing. She went back to Joe with her mind at ease after that month, threw herself into the role of wife, knowing that he had lost a little piece of her, that she had regained just a small fragment of her own self.
Eighteen years later, she was older than Joe was when they'd first met. She was forty-four now and still having affairs. One a year.
She still looked great. Possibly even better than when she was twenty-six. Joe told her that all the time. He couldn't believe it. 'Look at me,' he'd say. 'I've gained thirty pounds and my hair's as white as Santa's. But you…' And then he'd smile that same confident smile. 'You look exactly the same. Even more beautiful.'
Then his eyes would shine with pride.
And ownership.
Of course, her beauty wasn't without effort. She'd had a personal trainer for six years now. The latest one came to the apartment three times a week, sometimes even to the Long Island house, although usually when Joe was away. His workout was brutal. She ached constantly. But the results were splendid. Her body was back to what it had once been, before Joe, before the kids, before the eighteen years had somehow slipped away.
She was mad for the trainer. He was quite lovely. And he was gloriously young.
The first time he didn't show up for an appointment – he called to cancel early that morning – she pouted. She missed him throughout the entire day. She was unhappy. Several weeks later, he canceled again, a Friday session, and she was angry. Miserable. She didn't sleep that night and even Joe noticed that something was wrong. Her anger stayed with her all weekend, until she saw him again early Monday afternoon. Kid Demeter walked in the door and she was happy again. Relaxed.
After that, she began to think about him often. She would lie in bed, Joe curled up next to her, and she would be thinking about the boy. There was something special about him. As if there was much, much more to him than what she was allowed to see. And soon she had seen quite a bit.
Most of her affairs lasted no more than a month. That was all she desired. Anything more than that could get complicated and messy and she desired no complications or mess in her life. But her affair with the trainer had gone on for nearly a year now. And she was addicted. When he wasn't there, she craved him. When he was there, she dreaded his leaving. She bought him things, took him places, tried to please him, and the only subject that was off- limits was the future because he was young and she was not and no matter how spectacular she looked, she could not be a part of his future.
For them there was no future.
Which meant for her there was no future.
Sometimes, late at night, she forced herself to think about that. She made herself focus on what she would do if he ever left her.
The answer surprised her. And disturbed her. For she had no answer.
It was unimaginable.
It would never happen, she finally decided. Could never happen.
She owned him. He belonged to her. He was hers.
At last, she had her own possession. And one did not just let one's possessions up and go. Disappear. Who knew that better than she did?
No, being left was not acceptable. It was too horrible. Too painful.
Unimaginable.
– '-'-'THE ENTERTAINER She was very pretty. Muy bonita.
Really and truly. Es verdad.
Very, very pretty. Muy muy bonita.
She knew that she was, and she was more than willing to take advantage of it. How could she not? She saw how heads turned when she walked down the street, especially when she wore that little black skirt and the gray tank top, the one that just managed to reveal the thin ripple of muscle on her shoulder and down her back. And she
