Loving Time

forty-five

“How’s it going with us, Jason?”

Emma leaned against the back of her green and black bistro wicker chair and tapped the end of her fork on the white tablecloth soundlessly. In the soft light, her smile was wistful. Wistful and sad always made Jason feel guilty. Guilty made him defensive. He didn’t want to be defensive.

They were dining in a restaurant Emma thought was engaging enough to unite them against their private, ever-absorbing preoccupations. Emma was still waiting for word about her play and Jason had been sucked into the black hole of hospital politics and was never off the phone. The restaurant Emma had chosen to divert him to her own interests, however, was opposite the museum, around the corner from the Twentieth Precinct. From their table at the window, Jason was able to watch the street and wonder if April Woo was on duty. And if so, what she was doing.

“How’s it going with us, Jason?” Emma repeated.

At the question, he hastily focused on Emma. In the old days Emma would never have asked such a thing. How was it going with them? What kind of question was that? How did he feel? Did he love her, miss her? Before six months ago she would never have demanded that he talk to her about these things. She used to know better than to try to swim in such tricky currents. But that was then. Now she felt she had the upper hand. The tables had turned. Suddenly she was a person of substance, an earner. She wore expensive clothes, had her hair colored, and dropped names of Hollywood people he was pretty sure he didn’t ever want to know. So now Emma figured she had the right to ask any question she wanted.

Well, it just so happened one couldn’t answer questions like that no matter how the tables were placed. Love was not an “ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken,” as proclaimed by Shakespeare in a once favorite sonnet of Jason’s. In fact, love was as chaotic, unpredictable, and dangerous as the weather.

How did he feel? How many times did the winds shift in a day, pick up and ease off? How many degrees did the temperature vary? Pressure built up and storm clouds gathered. Then, just as they accepted the inevitability of a real set-to with the elements, the winds died down without warning and the sun broke through.

Emma began twisting her wedding ring around on her finger, impatient for his answer. After a second Jason smiled and covered her hand with his own. “You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“We’re catching up. We’re just trying to catch up and work it out.”

It must have been the right answer for once because she nodded. “Fair enough.” Her fingers curled around his.

“I wouldn’t have let you go, anyway,” he added after a moment. “I need you.”

That did it, got her where, all along, she had wanted to go.

“But what do you think about the play? Do you like the play?” she demanded.

He grimaced, stared out the window. “I’m sure everyone will like it.”

“So what’s the matter?”

The lifestyle, the jealousy. Everything. He couldn’t go out and eat this late. He was too tired. If Emma did a play, there’d be no quiet dinners at home. No quiet at all Or maybe too much quiet. At night when he was alone, undernourished and exhausted, she’d be out on the town working, eating late with a lot of groupies who were likely to flatter her and tell her she was wonderful. How could he stand that? In the daytime, when he was working like a fiend, she’d be lolling around in bed. It didn’t sound like fun. On the other hand, if she didn’t get the part, she might go back to California, and he wouldn’t see her at all.

He picked at the spaghetti on his plate, irritated that even the tomato sauce on the spaghetti was compromised. When he’d ordered, the waiter had insisted it had no cream in it, but the sauce had arrived thick and creamy, hardly tinged with pink.

“It doesn’t make any difference what I think. You’ll do what you need to do,” he murmured.

“Darling, you’ve always done what you needed to do. You never cared what I thought.”

“Let’s not get into parity. It’s apples and oranges.”

“It’s apples and apples, Jason. Work is work. I don’t love yours, but I guess I love you. So …?” She shrugged. “It’s the same thing.”

Jason grunted and paid the bill. It never came to much: Emma needed a perfect body and wasn’t eating entrées these days. That hurt, too. He couldn’t even feed her. He put the receipt in his pocket, annoyed at himself for such pettiness.

“Come on, take your stodgy husband home. If you’re really nice to me, maybe I’ll give you a good time,” he murmured, determined to bring the sunshine back.

“Promises, promises,” Emma grumbled. Still, on the street she took his arm and hugged it to her.

They headed west toward the river. “Did that guy find you?” she asked.

“What guy?”

“Some man in a gray suit. White shirt. Short hair, blue eyes. Rang the apartment bell and asked for you.”

“What did he want?”

“Well … since I’m not supposed to ask people looking for you who they are or what they want, I didn’t ask. He wanted to know when you’d be free, and I said he’d have to ask you.”

They walked across Seventy-ninth Street. “Hmmm. Cop? Insurance investigator?”

Emma shook her head. “Not a cop.”

“How did he get upstairs?”

“I have no idea. I thought he was a patient.”

Jason made a mental note to talk to the doorman in the morning. He tried to remember which one was on this morning, figured it must be Emilio, who was not always as attentive as he should be. As they went in their building, he stopped to ask the night doorman if anyone had asked for them. The former marine was the size of a bantam cock and still reeling from Emma’s abduction down the block on his watch while it was still light at six P.M. last spring.

“No, sir, absolutely no one,” the man said a touch defensively, looking away from Emma.

“Thanks, good night.”

Upstairs in the apartment the phone was ringing. Jason unlocked the door and headed for it.

“I bet it’s my call.” Emma pushed past him into the kitchen and got there first. “Hello.” Her voice was neutral.

“Ah … is Jason there?” It was a woman who sounded surprised.

“Who’s calling?” Emma replied coldly.

“It’s Dr. Treadwell. Clara Treadwell.”

Jason was right behind her, standing there questioningly. Emma handed over the phone, rolling her eyes. She wasn’t going to tell.

Thanks a lot. After a pause he said, “Hello?”

“Jason, it’s Clara. I need to meet with you right away.”

“Okay.” Jason checked his watch. It was nearly eleven-thirty, and Emma was frowning at the intrusion. “Um, I’m all booked up tomorrow. How about tomorrow, early morning? At seven?”

“Come to my apartment.”

“Ah …”

“Seven A.M.,” Clara said impatiently. “It can’t wait.”

The line went dead before he could ask what was so urgent.