A Stranger on the Beach. Michele Campbell
probably still out there, it’s only been a few minutes,” Stacey said, nodding toward the front door.
“Don’t tell anybody about this,” I said.
“Caroline, they already know.”
I turned and rushed out to the driveway. Jason was still there, talking to her. Her back was to me. The first thing I saw was, she had dark hair. It made no sense. Jason likes blondes, or at least he used to. Like me (though I get a little help with the color). But he had her by the arms, like she was trying to run away, and he wanted to stop her. The intimacy of it made me sick.
I marched right up to them. “What the hell is going on?”
They turned in unison, and Jason jumped away from the woman, like he’d been caught. Goddamn right he had, and with a tramp, by the looks of her. And the smell. The woman reeked of this cheap gardenia perfume. I nearly gagged on it. I started thinking, Maybe she’s a prostitute. This is who he’s cheating with? She wasn’t young, wasn’t beautiful. She had one of those faces that’s almost catlike from too much plastic surgery. I’m sorry, but she was a big step down from me.
Then she opened her mouth, and it got worse.
“Who is this?” she says to Jason, and she’s looking me up and down like I’m dirt. In my own house. But it came out like—who is zis? She was Russian, or maybe Czech. Flashy, hard-looking, heavy eyeliner, a tight leather skirt and fuck-me pumps. A younger, more beautiful woman, okay. Or a more educated, a smarter woman, a woman who was powerful in her own right? I’d get that. But to get betrayed for this, this whore? I was devastated.
“I’m his wife, who the hell are you?” I said.
My hands were twitching, I wanted to slap her so bad. But there were guests within earshot, just inside the door. And I wasn’t about to give them more to gossip about than they already had.
Instead of answering my question, she made this contemptuous little noise—the sound of air escaping between gritted teeth. Like I wasn’t worth her consideration. A car drove up, a brand-new cobalt-blue Audi coupe that looked like it cost real money. The valet stepped out and handed her the keys. She made another impatient sound at Jason and slid into the front seat.
“I go,” she said.
“Galina, wait,” Jason said.
“You need to decide,” she said. Then she pulled the door closed and took off with a spray of gravel.
My jaw was on the ground.
“Decide what? What is she talking about?” I said.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Bullshit. You bring another woman to my house, to my party, and let her talk to me that way, and refuse to explain?”
Jason turned to me like he hadn’t even noticed I was there till that minute. He was so caught up with this Galina woman that I didn’t even register. And he got this appalled expression on his face and started sputtering.
“Wait, no, it’s not what you’re thinking. We work together. There’s a problem, a work problem, and she followed me here to discuss it, that’s all.”
“I know the people at your firm. That woman doesn’t work there. They wouldn’t even let her through the door.” Which was one hundred percent true.
“I didn’t say she worked there.”
“Yes, you did. You just did. Stop lying.” I was about to burst into tears. I mean, people were watching.
“Caroline. You’ve got this all wrong.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I told you, she’s a business associate.”
“And I told you that I don’t believe you.”
“After twenty years of marriage, you need to give me the benefit of the doubt,” he said.
“I don’t have to do a goddamn thing.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions. But I can’t fix that right now. I have a crisis situation on my hands. I need to go in to the city.”
“What?”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“If you leave this party to go after her, don’t bother coming back.”
I regret saying that. I certainly regret saying it in front of people. My threat didn’t work anyway. He went after her. And I’m thinking, Screw him, I’ll get the best divorce lawyer in New York and take everything. The beach house, the apartment, the cars, the jewelry. I’ll take custody of Hannah, or—since she’s too old for custody—I’ll make her hate him. Hate his guts. He’ll never see her on holidays. He won’t be invited to her wedding. No walking her down the aisle, I’ll do that. He gets shit. He can die alone and see how he likes it.
I thought all those things. Anybody would, if their husband brought another woman to their big party, and then left to run after her. But never once did I actually think, I’m gonna go buy a gun and shoot my husband dead. Okay, well, maybe I thought it. But I didn’t do it.
Swear to God.
6
Jason never came back to the beach house on the night of the party, or on the day or night after that. I must’ve called his phone twenty times. Finally, he texted me with some lame excuse about a work crisis, but since I was tracking his phone, I could see the lie in real time. His office was in Midtown, but his dot was way the hell out in Brighton Beach. Brighton goddamn Beach, also known as Little Odessa. Jason was with the Russian woman.
That night, I turned off my phone and drank myself senseless. Obviously, that’s a wrong way to handle stress, but it’s also an old family tradition. I learned to drink at Daddy’s knee. Pat Logan, Sr.—man, that guy could put away the booze, and he was none too pleasant when he did it, either. And Theresa, my mother—straight gin, I’m not kidding. Is it any wonder that, when my life to fell to pieces, I reached for the bottle? I’m not making excuses. I saw what it did to them, and I should have known better. I had known better, when my little girl was home. We like to think our children behave for us, but it’s really the other way around. I controlled my drinking around Hannah, to set a better example than my parents set for me. But she wasn’t here now, and I swigged blood-colored wine until the empty bottle fell from my hands and I passed out.
On Sunday afternoon, I woke up to the smell of the Russian woman’s cheap perfume. I thought I was dreaming, but then I opened my eyes and Jason was standing over me, looking as bad as I felt. Which was very, very bad. He knelt down by the bed, and I could see tears in his eyes. At that point, I would’ve accepted an apology. Hell, I was praying for one.
“I can smell her on you,” I said, and my eyes filled with tears, too. “You can’t see her anymore, love. Please. I’m begging you.”
“I wish it was as simple as that, Car,” he said quietly. “It’s worse.”
I sat up. The room was spinning, and I had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting.
“Worse, how? Please, don’t tell me she’s pregnant.”
“I never meant to hurt you. Things got out of hand. It’s beyond my control now.”
“What are you talking about? Stop being so mysterious.” I dug my fingers into my temples. My head felt like it would split apart.
“I can’t tell you any more without—” He stopped.
“Without what?”
“I can’t say.”
“Jesus, what am I supposed to make of that, Jason? What am I supposed to do?”
“Honestly?