The Ranch

Chapter 21

When the bus pulled up to Zoe's house, they were all asleep. They had stayed up for hours, laughing and talking about the men in their lives. They made something to eat and shared it with Tom, and eventually they fell asleep. It had been a big day for them. And Tanya had to wake Zoe up when they got there. She was in a deep sleep and smiled when they woke her. She had made them promise to come in a minute and see her baby, even though she'd be sleeping, and they'd both agreed to it.

Tanya woke Mary Stuart too, and the threesome walked up the steps to Zoe's house, and waited while she found her key in her handbag. She opened the door as quietly as she could, and they tiptoed into the living room, on their way upstairs to see the baby. And as Zoe walked in, she saw that there were toys everywhere, a plate of food, and a bottle, and then she saw them. Sam was sound asleep on the couch, with Jade in his arms. They had waited for them for hours. Inge had gone upstairs to bed long since, and Sam had kept Jade up so she could see her mommy. And the three women looked at them with warm approval.

Zoe took a few steps toward them, and bent to kiss the sleeping child, and then Sam opened his eyes and saw her. He barely moved, and smiled as she looked at him, and then she kissed him too, gently on the cheek at first, and then on the lips as her two friends watched her.

“I missed you,” he whispered, and then he stood up to meet the others. He was still carrying Jade and she was sound asleep and didn't stir. They had become good friends in the past two weeks and she really loved him. She had been perfectly happy to fall asleep in his arms, waiting for her mommy. “She was dying to see you,” he explained, and Zoe smiled. “Me too,” he said, putting an arm around her. “Are you okay?” He looked concerned and she nodded.

Mary Stuart and Tanya were anxious to get going. Tom wanted to drink a lot of coffee and keep driving, and get to L.A. by morning. They had another six hours of travel ahead of them, and it was time to go now, though they would have liked to spend more time with Sam and Zoe, but they knew they couldn't. And it was time for Zoe to be with Sam now.

He still had an arm around her shoulders when they left, after a tearful good-bye, and Sam and Zoe waved from the stairs as the boy pulled away, and then he took Zoe inside, and set Jade down on the couch, and gently took her mother into his arms and kissed her.

The bus reached L.A., on schedule, at six o'clock the next morning. It had been almost twenty-four hours since they left Wyoming. And when they got to the house, Mary Stuart found a fax from her husband. He was inquiring about exactly when she was arriving. She had her reservations made, but she had not yet told him. And there was a long list of messages for Tanya, from her lawyers, her secretary, and her agents. But looking at it now, after being in Wyoming for the past two weeks, it all seemed less important. And as the sun came up over L.A., Mary Stuart and Tanya sat at her kitchen table. It was an enormous room, and it felt good to be home in a way, but they both missed Wyoming. They had left a great deal there. And they sat in the kitchen, talking about Gordon and Hartley. It had been an extraordinary trip for all of them, it was hard to believe now it had happened.

“When are you going to London?” Tanya asked. She didn't know either.

“I thought I'd stick around today and tomorrow, and go Wednesday,” she said, “unless you want me to go sooner.”

“Are you kidding?” Tanya said easily. “I wish you'd stay forever. And I hope you come back soon.” They had both made Zoe promise to stay in touch, and they were talking about spending a weekend with her somewhere, maybe in Carmel, if she felt up to it, or Malibu at Tanya's, or even in San Francisco. They all thought it sounded terrific. They were not going to let time or distance or, worse yet, tragedy get between them.

Tanya spent the entire day working with her secretary, and trying to make decisions after two weeks away, and late that afternoon, Gordon called her. He was fine, working in the corral, missing her like crazy, and he'd gone up to see the house, and had a contractor drawing up plans for her. He said they'd be ready to move in, in no time. And she told him about all the horrors of coming back to work in the real world. He told her to just hang in until he got there.

“I can't wait,” she said, her eyes filling with excitement.

“Neither can I,” he said, closing his eyes, and imagining her just the way she looked in his cabin in the morning. He couldn't wait to set up their ranch now.

They talked for a long time, he had gone to a pay phone to call her. He kept putting quarters in, and he refused to let her call the number, or call her collect in future. He was stubborn. And he promised to call her again the next day, and asked her to say hello to Mary Stuart. She had heard nothing from Hartley but she didn't expect to. They had agreed not to call each other until she settled matters in London. And she didn't even know where to reach him in Boston or Seattle. She knew he'd be home on Thursday. And she knew what the code was. “Adieu, Arielle,” or “Bonjour, Arieile,” depending on what happened with her marriage.

Tanya took her to Spago that night, and introduced her to Wolfgang Puck, the owner, and she explained who everyone was. Victoria Principal was having dinner with a big group. George Hamilton was there. Harry Hamlin… Jaclyn Smith… Warren Beatty… And George Christy of the Hollywood Reporter was at a comer table. And everyone knew Tanya, but it was one of the few places in Hollywood where, no matter how big the star was, they never disturbed her.

She and Mary Stuart talked for a long time about everything, and Mary Stuart seemed to have made her mind up. She went shopping the next day when Tanya went to rehearsal. And they went to bed early that night. Gordon had called again, and there was a fax from Bill, confirming her arrival. He had said absolutely nothing personal at all, and Mary Stuart shook her head when she saw it.

And the next morning when she left, she and Tanya clung to each other and cried. She didn't want to leave at all, and they both wanted to turn the clock back and leave for Wyoming.

“It'll be okay,” Tanya encouraged her. “It'll be fine. Just think of Hartley.” It was all Mary Stuart could think of, as she left, and all the way to London. She even wrote him a letter. It would be their first, she smiled to herself, the first she'd written to him. Maybe he'd even keep it. He was wonderfully sentimental. She told him how much he meant to her, and how wonderful Wyoming had been, how empty her life had been before she met him. She was going to mail it when she got to the hotel in London.

The hotel had sent a car for her. She was staying at Claridge's after all. It seemed easier than going to another hotel when he was staying there. But she had reserved her own room. She had no idea if Bill knew that. But actually, the hotel had told him.

She went through customs easily, and reached the hotel shortly after. It was all very civilized, and when she reached Claridge's they ushered her upstairs like a visiting dignitary from another country. And they informed her that Mr. Walker was in the suite he was renting as his offices, with his secretary, he was working. But she did not call him as soon as she reached her room. She wanted time to regain her composure. She washed her face and combed her hair and as usual she looked impeccable in a black linen suit that had traveled perfectly from L.A. to London. It was typical of Mary Stuart.

And when she had ordered a cup of tea, and finished it, she called him. By then, it was ten o'clock in the morning. But she had no idea that Bill was going crazy. He knew her plane had gotten in at seven. He assumed she had gone through customs by eight, and gotten to the hotel at nine. And he had called the desk to confirm it. He knew she was in her own room, and hadn't called him. He had been agonizing ever since then. But Mary Stuart was in no hurry. It was Thursday by then. She had allowed a day for this, and as she had been unable to reach Alyssa, she was flying to New York on Friday. It was certainly a circuitous route from Wyoming.

He answered on the first ring when she called him. It was awkward even speaking to him now, and she gave him her room number, and he said he'd come right down to see her. He left his secretary and told her not to disturb him. He was going to an important meeting.

Mary Stuart opened the door and looked at him, and it was painful to see how familiar he looked, how much like the man she had loved for so long until the year before. But she knew this man was different. They both were.

“Hello, Bill,” she said quietly as he came in, and he was about to put his arms around her, but when he saw her eyes, he decided not to. “How are you?”

“Not so great actually,” he said, and surprised her.

“Is something wrong?” It was odd for her, of all people, to ask him.

“I'm afraid so,” he said, sitting in a chair, and stretching his long legs out before him.

“What happened?” She assumed the case wasn't going well, and she was sorry to hear it. He had certainly put enough time and effort into it to win it.

“Actually,” he said, looking at her mournfully, and seeming very young to her. He looked vulnerable and kind of pathetic. “I've fucked my life up pretty badly and yours.” She was startled by the way he looked, and even more so by the way he said it. She wondered if he was going to make some terrible confession, like an affair since he'd been in London. But in some ways, that might make it easy. This was not as easy for her as she'd hoped, just telling him their marriage was over. Suddenly he was a real person, with wrinkles and flaws, and things she had once loved about him.

“What do you mean?” she asked, looking puzzled. What did he mean, he'd fucked his life up?

“I think you know exactly what I mean. That's why you're here, isn't it? I figured that much out, stupid as I am. And as men go, I've been pretty dumb. I've spent the last year with my head buried in my desk somewhere, thinking that if I ignored you long enough you'd go away, or my misery and my guilt would, or Todd would come back, or the stupid things I said to you would be forgotten. But none of that seemed to happen. It just kept getting worse. I felt more awful every day, and you've come to hate me. That was actually pretty predictable, given the way I behaved. The only one who didn't predict it though was me, which is pretty awkward.” He said it all looking like a kid, she had to smile at what he was saying. Sometimes he was very endearing. “Anyway, I don't suppose any of this surprises you. I think I'm the only one around here who's amazed not only by my stupidity, but my behavior. So now you've come to let me know very politely, and in person, which is very kind of you, my dear, that you're going to divorce me.” He was the criminal helping the executioner set up the guillotine, and agreeing all the while that he deserved it. It actually made it harder to kill him.

“Where have you been all year?” she asked. It was the one thing she had wanted to ask him. “How could you have completely hidden from me, frozen me out? You never even spoke to me, or answered questions.” It had been like living with a robot. Or a dead man, and he had been.

“I was unhappy,” he said. He was the master of understatement, and she kept silently reminding herself to think of Hartley. “So what do we do now? Did you bring the divorce papers with you?” He figured she had them ready when he talked to her in Wyoming. It had all suddenly become clear to him, and he knew exactly why she was coming.

“Was I supposed to? Do you want them?”

“Do you have them with you?” He looked ready to sign them, and it annoyed her even more to see how willing he was to give up on what they'd had for twenty-two years. He really didn't care at all, from what she could see. And it infuriated her even further.

“No, I do not have our divorce papers with me,” she said angrily. “Hire yourself a lawyer or draw them up yourself. I can't do everything, for God's sake. I came over to talk to you, not have you sign papers.”

“Oh.” He looked startled. He had also gotten the message when the concierge told him she had her own room. He had been about to tell the housekeeper to prepare for another guest in his room, and it crushed him when he realized she wasn't going to stay with him. That certainly delivered the message. “You're very angry at me, Stu,” he said sadly, looking at her, wishing he could take it all back, or change it. “I don't blame you. I've been a complete bastard to you. I can't even give you an excuse, although you deserve one. All I can give you is an apology. I've been confused ever since Todd died. I felt so guilty, I didn't know who to blame. I blamed myself, but I couldn't stand it, so I pretended to blame you. But I never really did. I was always convinced it was my fault.”

“How could it be your fault?” She was stunned by what he was saying. “It wasn't anyone's fault. It was horrible for all of us, even Alyssa. None of us deserved it. I got really angry at him when I cleaned out his room, and the funny thing is I felt better after I did that.”

“You cleaned out his room? Why?” Once again, she had surprised him.

“Because it was time. I put everything away, and packed up his things. I gave away his clothes to people who could use them. I think I thought that if I left his room there long enough, he'd come back to it. I finally figured out that wasn't going to happen.”

“I think I figured that out here in London.”

Then she shocked him again. “I want to sell the apartment. Or you can do what you want,” she corrected herself, “but I don't want to live there. It's too depressing. None of us are ever going to recover as long as we live there.” Everyone had said not to make hasty decisions, and they hadn't. It had been a year now. “You can live there if you want, but I won't.” When she went back to New York, she was going to look for an apartment, unless she decided to live with Hartley. She still hadn't decided. And she knew he would do whatever she wanted.

“Never mind the apartment,” Bill finally said bluntly. “Do you want to live with me? I think that's the issue.” He almost fell out of his chair when she answered, although he had expected it, he still didn't want to hear it.

“No, I don't,” she said calmly. “Not the way it's been for the past year. I would, the way it used to be. But that's all over.”

“What if we could go back again? If it could be like that, the way it was before, then what?”

“That doesn't happen,” she said sadly, and when she looked up she saw tears in his eyes and she was sorry for him. She had cried so much for the past year, she couldn't cry anymore. For her, it was all over. “I'm really sorry.”

“So am I,” he said, looking vulnerable and human. It was sad, the body snatchers had brought him back too late, but it probably didn't matter anyway, it was only for a visit. If she had agreed to go back to him, he probably would have been rotten to her again, and stopped talking to her, she thought as she looked at him. She didn't want to chance it. “I'm sorry I was such a damn fool,” he said, his lip trembling, his eyes filled with tears. “I just didn't know how to handle what happened.”

“Neither did I,” she said, her eyes filling with tears in spite of herself, “but I needed you. I had no one.” She sobbed as she said it.

“Neither did I. I didn't even have me, that's what was so awful. It was like I died along with Todd, and I killed our marriage.”

“You did,” she accused him openly. This was why she had come to London. She at least wanted him to know why she was leaving. He had a right to know that. But he just sat there, crying. And he looked so miserable while he did, she just wanted to put her arms around him, but she forced herself not to do that.

“I wish I could take it all back and do it differently, Stu, but I can't. I can't do anything but tell you how sorry I am. You deserve a lot better than this. You always did. I was a total shit and a complete moron.”

“What am I supposed to do with that?” she said, pacing around the room suddenly. For the first time, she looked angry and flustered. “Why are you telling me now what a bastard you were? Why didn't you do something about it?”

“I didn't know how to stop. But I figured it out once I got here. I realized what a mistake this was as soon as I got to London. I was so lonely I couldn't think straight. I wanted you here. I wanted to ask you to come, but I was too embarrassed to do it, and you were having a good time at some goddamn dude ranch. You probably fell in love with a cowboy, for all I know,” he said, looking miserable, and she stared at him and wanted to shake him.

“You are a complete jerk,” she said, with total conviction. She should have said it months ago, and was sorry now that she hadn't.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to be insulting, I just meant I deserved it.”

“You deserve a good swift kick in the behind, and you have all year, William Walker. What do you mean you were lonely when you got here? How could you be stupid enough to set yourself up here for two or three months and just dump me in New York? Why should I even be married to you anymore?”

“You're right. You shouldn't,” he said humbly.

“Good. I'm glad we agree on that. Let's get divorced.” She had finally said it. It was over, but he was staring at her and shaking his head at her, which confused her further.

“I don't want to,” he said, looking like a kid refusing to go to the dentist. “I don't want to divorce you,” he said firmly.

“Why not?” She looked exasperated.

“I love you.” He looked straight into her eyes as he said it, and she looked away from him and out the window.

“It's a little late for that, I'm afraid,” she said sadly. She would never believe again that he loved her. He had proved otherwise for an entire year now. He had ignored her, abandoned her, shunned her, frozen her out, gone to London for two months, and he had never offered her a moment of comfort when their son died. He had cheated her of everything he owed her as a husband.

“It's never too late,” he said, still looking at her, but she shook her head. She knew different. “Are you saying you could never forgive me? That's not like you. You've always been so forgiving.”

“Probably too much so,” she said wisely. “I don't know why, but I do know it's too late for me. I'm really sorry,” she said, standing up, and turning her back to him, as she looked out at the rooftops of London. She wanted to end their discussion. She had told him she wanted a divorce. This was what she had come for. And she had a fax to send… “Bonjour, Arielle”… She wanted Hartley to find it the moment he walked into his apartment on Friday.

But she hadn't realized that Bill had come up behind her, and she jumped a foot when he put his arms around her. “Don't do that, please,” she said, without turning around to see him.

“I want to,” he said, sounding desperately unhappy, “just one last time, please… let me hold you…”

“I can't,” she said miserably, and turned around to face him. He had his arms around her and his face was inches from hers, and he wasn't letting go. She wanted to tell him she didn't love him anymore, but she didn't have the guts to say it. And it wasn't true yet. But it would be one day. It would just take time. She had loved him for too long for it to disappear overnight. But he had hurt her too much for her to want to love him. The only trouble was, she still did though.

“I love you,” he said, looking right at her, and she closed her eyes. He was still holding her and he wouldn't let go, and she didn't want to see him.

“I don't want to hear it.” But she didn't move away either.

“It's true. It always was. I love you… oh, God, even if you leave me now, please believe that. I will always love you… just like I loved Todd…” He was crying again, and without meaning to, she bowed her head, and put it on his shoulder. She could suddenly remember how painful it was, when it had happened to them, and Bill hadn't been there for her. He had been so dead and hurt and frozen that he couldn't help her. And now he was crying for their son, and so was she, as she clung to her husband. “I love you so much,” Bill said again, and then he kissed her, and she tried to back away, and pull away from him, but she couldn't. Instead she found herself kissing him, and hating herself for it. How could she be so weak? How could she give in to him? And the worst thing was that she wanted to kiss him.

“Don't,” she said, when he stopped, and they were both breathless. But she found that kissing him had soothed the hurt even if it didn't end the pain. And then he kissed her again, and she kissed him, and it felt like she never wanted him to stop, for forever. “This is not appropriate,” she said breathlessly. “I came here to divorce you.”

“I know,” he said, kissing her, and then suddenly it had gone much further. He was touching her and holding her and she was kissing him, and neither of them could understand their attraction for each other. It hadn't happened to them for a year, and now suddenly they were both overwhelmed with desire, and before either of them knew what had occurred, they were in bed, and she had never wanted him as much or been more aroused by him, and he was seized with passion for her as he had never known it. The room was strewn with their clothes, and they were both exhausted when they finally stopped. It had been a year for both of them, and as she lay and looked at him, she grinned, and then suddenly she laughed, it was all so absurd, and he was smiling.

“This is disgusting,” she said, still grinning at him. “I came here to divorce you.”

“I know,” he said, but he was still smiling. “I can't believe this. I don't know what happened… let's do it again…” And an hour later, they did. They talked and they made love, and he lay in her arms and cried for their son, and what he had done to her, and they made love again. He never saw his secretary again that day and she had no idea what had happened to him except that he had said he was going to an important meeting, and that was what she told everyone who called him.

They were still naked and in bed at six o'clock, and they were spent. He asked her if she wanted room service, but all she wanted was to be with him, and she slept in his arms. And when she woke the next morning, he was looking at her, praying it hadn't been a dream. The one thing he knew in his life, with all the uncertainties he'd found, was that he didn't want to lose her. And he told her that over breakfast. He had ordered a huge breakfast for both of them, they were starving, for food and each other. And as they sat and talked, he asked her what she wanted to do that day. He made it sound as though they were on vacation.

“Don't you have to work?” she asked, finishing her omelette, and taking a sip of coffee.

“I'm taking the day off. If you're going back to New York, I want to be with you before you go,” and then with a sad look, he added, “I'll take you to the airport.” But after breakfast, they made love again, and had almost missed her plane by then. She could have made it if she'd leapt out of bed and dressed in a hurry, but she didn't want to. She wanted to stay. For a day, a week, the duration of his stay. Whatever it took. Maybe forever. And she said as much to him as they sat together in the bathtub.

“Will you stay?” he asked ever so gently, and when she nodded, he kissed her.

“All I have with me are cowboy boots and jeans, and about two proper city dresses.” She smiled at him and he looked happier than she'd ever seen him.

“You'll be all the rage in London. Do we have to have separate rooms?”

“No,” she said seriously, “but I still want to sell the apartment.” He thought it was a good idea too. It was time for them to move on, to heal, to find each other again, and with any luck at all, start over. He had every intention of making that happen, and he was grateful to her for letting him do it. He swore the nightmare of the past year would never happen again, and after all the talking they'd done, she believed him.

He said he wanted to take her out that afternoon, just for a walk, so he could be with her and talk to her, and remember how sweet it was to walk beside her. But he had to stop at his office first. He had promised his secretary when he called that he'd sign some papers. And Mary Stuart had said she would meet him in the lobby.

She dressed quietly, thinking of him, and the time they had shared, and she jotted the note with shaking hands once she was dressed. She was wearing a brown linen dress, which was the only other respectable dress she had brought to London, and her hair wasn't as neat as usual. She looked younger ad just a little bit disheveled. She had already told Bill that if she stayed, she had to go shopping. But she wasn't thinking of that now, she was thinking of him, the man who had ridden through the wildflowers with her in Wyoming.

She went downstairs and spoke to the concierge, and he said it was no problem to send it for her, although he reminded her that her husband had a private fax already set up in his office. But she preferred to do it with the concierge, she explained, and she gave him the fax number. She had written out two words, and her eyes filled with tears as she handed him the paper.

“It will go out immediately, madam,” he said, and she trembled at the pain it would cause, for both of them. But he had been wiser than she was. He had realized better than she had what might happen.

The paper said “Adieu, Arielle.” Nothing more. Just that. And she never mailed him her letter. There was no point now. That had been her promise to him. Just two words and no explanations.

“Ready for some air?” Bill asked when he came downstairs. He thought she seemed quiet again, and he was worried, and he saw when he looked at her that she'd been crying. They'd been in her room for nearly two days, but they had settled a lot of things, and he put his arms around her again right there in the lobby.

“It's okay, Stu… I swear it'll be all right… I love you.” But she hadn't been thinking of him. She'd been saying good-bye to a friend. And then, she took her husband's hand, and they walked out into the sunshine. The doorman watched them as they walked away, hand in hand, and he smiled. It was nice, and so rare, when you saw happy couples. Life seemed so easy for them. Or maybe they were just lucky.