The Affair. Colette Freedman
Tommy.”
“But he’s . . .” Kathy wasn’t sure how one could discuss Tommy’s weight in a politically correct manner.
“Big boned? Fat? Chunky? Or shall we go straight to clinically obese? It’s okay; you can say it. And I know what you’re thinking: Tommy shouldn’t have a chance with women.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were thinking it. I could hear you thinking it. My Tommy. My blubbery and bald Tommy swaying that enormous manhood of his. I’m not sure who I feel sorry for more: me, or the unfortunate woman who had to take a gander at that without being warmed up. I had years of the Thin Tommy before the fatty deposits took over.”
“He’s very polite,” Kathy murmured.
“Oh, don’t tell me you want him too?” Rose laughed. Rose King was fifteen years older than Kathy and looked five years older than that, with what looked like a frizzy burgundy perm that had gone out of fashion in the seventies, but which was her own hair. No matter what she did to it—whether she had it cut, colored, or straightened—within a matter of weeks it returned to its unruly mop. A short, stout woman, she had raised four boys and two girls, the youngest of whom had just left home. She’d recently told Kathy that this would be the first Christmas in more than twenty years that she and Tommy would be alone. She was dreading it, she added, without a trace of humor in her voice.
Rose and Kathy had formed the unlikeliest of friendships, starting twelve years ago when Brendan had been starting school. Kathy had walked past Rose’s slightly disheveled front lawn twice a day. A brief hello had turned into a few words as the weeks went by, which had gradually developed into longer chats. Soon Kathy was stopping for a cup of coffee, then Rose was dropping in. On the surface they had nothing in common, besides being neighbors, but they had no secrets from one another. Even when Kathy had moved from gritty South Boston to posh Brookline, the two women had kept in touch and remained friends.
“But how could you suspect your Tommy of having an affair . . . ?” The words trailed away. Even the thought of Tommy—fat, pompous, and, when he wasn’t wearing a ridiculous wig, as bald as an egg—having an affair, brought a smile to her lips.
Rose shrugged. Then she grinned and rasped, “My Tommy. My beer-bellied Tommy. But he wasn’t always fat and follically-challenged.” She shook her head in wonderment. “I know for certain that he’s had one relationship that lasted two years.”
Kathy stared at her blankly.
“Oh, and there’s definitely been two other briefer affairs. Six months each,” Rose added.
Kathy was shocked, but she wasn’t sure whether it was at the thought of Tommy’s having an affair or by the calm, almost conversational way that Rose announced the news. More to disguise her incredulity, she got up and grabbed the poinsettia plant that her kids had given to her a week earlier. Turning to the sink, she busied herself watering it. “I never knew. . . . You never said.”
“It’s not the sort of thing you drop into conversation, is it?” Rose’s mouth twisted in an ugly smile. “Love your new blouse. By the way, did you happen to know that Tommy’s dating the twenty-two-year-old bartender at the Purple Shamrock? And I don’t really mean dating either.”
Pain and anger soured the older woman’s voice, and Kathy turned to look at her. They had been friends for over a decade, and Kathy had never suspected the hurt Rose was hiding.
“Don’t look at me like that, Kathy. The fact is, it’s easier just to ignore. Make my solid contribution to the annual WASP handbook of don’t ask, don’t tell.”
“A two-year relationship . . . two six-month relationships. That’s three years of your life with him while he was with other women? Three years.”
“Honey, they were the best three years of my life!”
“Rose!”
“What? I got a lot done.” Rose drank her coffee and stared at Kathy.
“How long ago . . . I mean, when did you first suspect?” Kathy whirled around. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”
“Ten years ago was the first time,” Rose continued as if she hadn’t heard Kathy. “I don’t know her name; I never bothered to find out.” Rose hesitated for a second. “Okay, that’s a lie. Gladys Schwartz. I read the e-mails,” she admitted. “What? Just because I didn’t confront him about the affair, didn’t mean I didn’t want to know everything. I needed to know, and it sort of made it easier to manage.”
“Did you ever see her?”
“No. Yes, of course I did.” Her face tightened, then creased into a smile. “Gladys Schwartz was as big as a house. Made Tommy look practically anorexic.”
Kathy forced a smile. Rose had looked through Tommy’s e-mails. That was a complete violation of privacy. She would never consider going through Robert’s e-mails. That would be a violation of trust.... But she’d already scrolled through his phone. Still, that was different. And if he was having an affair . . . well, hadn’t he already violated that trust?
Rose interrupted Kathy’s thoughts as she nattered on. “Gladys was an old flame, I think, one of his many previous girlfriends. They’d kept in touch on and off; then they started seeing one another for a drink. The drinks turned to meals; the meals turned to . . . well, I don’t know what they turned to, but I suspect that they ended up in bed together.” Rose delivered the statement in a flat monotone. “Must have been a big bed,” she added.
Kathy shook her head. Through the kitchen window, she could see out into the grim-looking winter garden, the trees stripped of leaves, the ornamental pond, which she hated, covered in a scummy layer of brown. Reflected in the glass, she could see Rose’s face, staring at her.
She turned back from the sink and sat at the kitchen table again, not sure what to do or how to respond. She had waited until Robert had gone to work and the children had raced to catch the bus before inviting her friend over. She had thought she would tell Rose her story and get some advice; she certainly hadn’t expected to hear something like this.
Rose laughed shakily. “I know. It’s absurd. My Tommy. But, you know, he can be so charming, so kind. So deliciously self-deprecating. That’s what first attracted me to him. Trust me, he was no Brad Pitt, but by God, he made me laugh. I read somewhere that that’s what women go for. Forget the good looks; most women just want to laugh. That’s why liars get all the girls.”
Kathy got up to pour herself more coffee. “I read that too.”
“A couple of years after that,” Rose continued, “I suspected he was carrying on with the blonde from number fifteen.”
Kathy snorted, the sound unexpected. “The one with the big . . . ?”
Reflected in the kitchen glass, Rose nodded. “The very same. Tommy started doing the accounts for her husband’s store just before his business folded. Remember, her husband ran the little appliances store just off Broadway. He had the big closing-down sale, everything must go, all items dirt cheap. Well, he made a fortune that day, then took off with the takings, the contents of their bank account, and the scrawny redhead who worked the register.”
“I bought a vacuum cleaner there.”
“I got a deep-fat fryer. Well, my Tommy started popping over once a week. Then it was twice. Then . . . well, I don’t know. It finished when she moved out.”
Kathy brought the coffee pot back to the table. “You said there were three occasions . . .” she gently prompted Rose.
“About two years ago, I suspected something was going on. It’s when online dating became so popular. One day he left his computer on, and I saw instant message texts on his screen from a bunch of women. He’d joined Match.com. Set up his profile as GlassHalfFull33. Ha. More like GlassCompletelyEmpty63. Still, these women actually