Breach and a Bagel
“Did I wake you?”
“Becca? Is that you? Wake me? It’s eleven o’clock on a Tuesday morning. Honey, I’m at work. Where are you? You sound a little distant.”
“Maui. We arrived a few days ago.”
“Uh huh. Well, it figures. I’m thinking about whether to eat the other half of my onion bagel and you’re in paradise wondering what time it is in the rest of the world. Okay, this is fair.”
“I need to talk. Do you have a few minutes.”
“What did Alan do now?”
‘Nothing. Nothing. It’s been great here. It’s really lovely.”
“I’ll bet it is.”
“Stop. I need your help. I’ve decided I can’t do this anymore.”
“Again? Again, your leaving Alan? We’re not doing this again. Anyway, I’m not doing it.”
“I mean it’s clear to me, now. I have to break away. It’s only right.”
“Well, at least you didn’t say it.”
“Say what, Abby?”
“That he’s never going to leave…”
“Oh, no. Leave Sheila? No, never. Alan never said he was going to leave Sheila, never even hinted at it. ‘Whether she’s bawling her eyes out or cussing me out, she’s the one that’ll be picking out my last suit,’ he always says.”
“How magnanimous of him.”
“That’s not it. It’s me. I mean what is this all about?”
“Becca, I think it’s pretty clear. By the way, how did he wangle a trip to Maui and keep it from Sheila?”
“Oh, we’re on a work junket. I mean he is. The firm flew out the senior execs. A retreat, you know.”
“Not really, but it must be nice.”
“Well, actually, we had to fly out separately. But I didn’t mind. Fact is, he’s the one who hates to fly. White knuckles, then he pops up as soon as he hits a little turbulence. Poor baby.”
“So, you want to leave because he’s a poor flyer?”
“Abby, you’re not paying attention. It’s me. It’s all this. I’m just not growing, and this is going nowhere.”
“It got you to Maui.”
“Look, this is all very nice. I mean the place is gorgeous. The hotel is on the beach and the halls are open air and they have these long white curtains that drift down from a twenty-foot-high ceiling and waft beautifully in the ocean breezes. I mean it’s delightful. And I mean these people really cater to your every whim. Why the other night at dinner — the restaurant is outdoors, of course, and overlooks the beach and ocean — the chef came out to greet us, all because Alan asked about how the gluten-free dishes were prepared. He’s got that bad allergy, you know.”
“What’s your point here?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. Well, I can’t do it anymore. I mean it’s not right. I mean it’s not going anywhere and, and I feel bad about Robby.”
“Why do you feel bad about your son? Is he suffering? He’s in school up in Massachusetts, right?”
“Yes. It’s wonderful for him. You know that I could never afford to send him there.”
“I know. So, this is a good thing. No?”
“Well, yes and no. I mean I love that Robby’s there. I mean you should see the student roster. The thing reads like the Mayflower manifest.”
“I’m still waiting for the bad.”
“The bad is that Alan is paying Robby’s first year’s tuition. God, I love him for it. But it’s just not right.”
“In whose world is it not right, Becca?”
“My world. I mean it’s not his kid.”
“Did you twist his arm? Did you have him in a chokehold when you asked for the tuition money?”
“No, he wanted to. Said it wasn’t a big deal.”
“So, when are you going to tell him?”
“Sometime today. But definitely after breakfast. You know, the breakfast’s here are to die for. The staff sets a table on the veranda, very secluded from the other guests, but with a view of the water. And I have to tell you, my omelet has been scrumptious. You know me and breakfast. And it comes with berries. Mmmm, and they warm the berries. You know, on second thought, maybe I won’t say anything until tonight. We’re supposed to go back to Molokini. That’s an island just off the coast where the whales migrate to this time of year. We took a boat ride yesterday — very touristy — and we saw a whale breach the water. It was the coolest thing. So, Alan booked us again for today. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
“Has the sex been as good as the food or the whales?”
“You know the story. The same. It isn’t bad. It’s not like he’s really gross to touch or anything. And he doesn’t screw like an old man. At least not yet. And you know, that’s not everything.”
“Maybe to you.”
“No, I mean I’ve learned a lot. He’s really smart. We even have discussions about art. Two weeks ago, we spent three hours at the Whitney. We saw the Raffensberg exhibit.”
“Rauschenberg.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Rauschenberg. Wasn’t that nice of him to take the time to do that?”
“Isn’t that when he jumped you in the stairwell.”
“You’re always going down that road. He just likes the way I look, and sometimes, well, he can’t help himself, especially when I’m in a bikini. You know, he told me to get a tan. But not a conspicuous one. Nothing dermatologically irresponsible, he said. Isn’t that a nice way to phrase things?”
“Beautiful.”
“Oh, he really means to look out for me. I mean, I know he wants me to look good. You know I shave off half a dozen years when we’re with his friends. I’m still sticking with twenty-nine. Do you think I can still get away with it?”
“Well, you’ve been with him over a year. Don’t you think you might turn that calendar page?”
“I know. I know. This won’t last anyway. I was thinking I could get something else?”
“Do you mean a job?”
“I could go back to modeling. Not the high fashion stuff. No, I mean the commercial jobs. Something like, you know, the attractive mom holding a new vacuum cleaner. Or maybe become a photographer.”
“And send Robby to private school?”
“Maybe. Maybe I’m good around cameras.”
“Becca, honey, that’s not what you’re good at.”
“Well, I don’t care. My mind is made up. Uh, I think he’s getting up. I have to go. Wish me luck.”
“Sure. Go. Have a nice breakfast. And if you’re wondering, I’ve decided to go for it, too.”
“Go for what?”
“The other half of my bagel.”
“Oh.”
“By the way, how does your son like the school? Didn’t he begin classes last week?”
“Oh, Robby, he loves it. He told me he’s really looking forward to the next four years.”
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