She left. I waited until the layer was finished. I checked my watch, saw that it was almost ten-thirty, and walked to the parking lot. Stick appeared. It was time for him to take Mary Catharine to her AA meeting. Afterwards they would have lunch. He flipped the keys to his Lexus back and forth while he walked my way, not surprised by my presence. “She told you,” he said, not a question.
“Was it difficult?”
“It was my fault,” he said, stating a fact. His gaunt face stared at the low gray body of his car.
“Yes,” I agreed.
“I encouraged her.”
“Yes,” I said.
“She’s done great work. The whole 800 scheme was really … She put it together.” He looked at me, smiling slightly. “They’re all copying it. Including Big Blue. With all those fucking salesmen.”
“Are you proud of her?”
He stared down at the keys and flipped them over. They struck his knuckles. “Yep,” he said and flipped them back against his palm. “She deserves to be promoted more than Jack.”
“That’s true.”
“Is she going to leave?” he mumbled.
“My guess is, she’s calling Edgar now. She claims she’s going to be his second wife.”
He nodded and opened his door. He moved between it and the car, one foot inside, ready to mount his horse. “She’s trying to piss you off.”
“Predictable,” I said. “So you told her you were promoting Jack?”
“That’s what we agreed, right?”
I nodded.
He got himself in, and looked through the windshield. He didn’t close the door. “I thought you said she told you.”
“In her way. She complained about your asking her to keep her love life to herself.”
He reached for the door. “She’s a real loss to the company.”
I helped shut it while saying, “But you’ll get a daughter back.”
I turned to leave. He started the car and lowered his window to say, “Rafe?” I faced him. He frowned and stared ahead. I leaned on the door and waited. The stone face didn’t move.
“What is it, Stick?”
His lips barely moved. “You don’t love her?” he asked and looked at me.
“No. If I did, it would be a disaster for her.”
“Poor Hal,” he said. He pressed a button and his window rolled up. I backed away and he drove off. He was hurting his daughter, hurting her more keenly than anyone else could, and, although he hadn’t hesitated to do the deed, he didn’t seem to get much pleasure from it. We had made progress.
Halley resigned a week later to work for Edgar in his recently formed media subsidiary, Levin Entertainment, which included his brother’s production company, Channel 8—the independent New York broadcast station that he was transforming into a cable superstation — and the Catalogue Channel, a slightly upscale copy of the Home Shopping Network. During our seven-thirty-in-the-morning phone calls, I heard how thrilled she was by the day-to-day progress of her new career. For her, the job was really centered around captivating Edgar, the target I (her new father) had set for her.
Edgar took Halley’s job inquiry seriously right from the start. Stick had recommended her highly and confirmed her story that she was the one who wanted to leave Minotaur. Nevertheless, Halley insisted Edgar was only interested in her sexually. “He’s got very few women working for him and I bet he’s fucked all of them.”
“Could be,” I conceded. “But he wants you for a job that you’re qualified for anyway — mass media marketing.”
“He should be hiring someone from the Home Shopping Network. That would kill two birds with one stone — hurting them while getting himself started.”
“Did you suggest that to him?” I asked.
“Yes.” She didn’t linger in her bed these days for our talks. She roved while dressing. There was a rush of water, followed by the sound of pouring. “Was that a mistake?”
“Are you making coffee?”
“Yes. Did I make a mistake?”
“It was good advice. That should prove to him you’re the right choice.”
“Good,” she said. Over the next month I was introduced each morning, by phone, to her new world. Our night sessions continued, on Monday and Thursday. They were strictly ritualized with no variation: a bath on Monday, a bedtime story on Thursday. Only during the throes of orgasm did she complain that she couldn’t touch me and she was obviously insincere. She was convinced that I was what I seemed to be: a loving mirror in which she could see a true reflection. My headaches, of course, grew worse. No matter what I tried — long walks; midnight exercise at, ironically, The Workout; or, to be blunt, masturbation — nothing relieved my frustration. I wondered about an absurdity: if I had a real relationship going that I could return to after my sessions with Halley, would that be easier? My guess was yes — except for the minor detail that no healthy woman would accept my behavior.
I had a more immediate problem. By May, Halley was settled at Levin Entertainment. My presence at Minotaur was no longer required — Stick had gone too far in relinquishing power and he showed no sign of wishing to return to his former behavior. Besides, a weekly phone call kept him satisfied and well-monitored. I had even found him a doubles partner who relished winning as much as he. It was time to terminate — allow Andy, Jack, Tim, Jonathan and Stick to function on their own. If I returned to Baltimore, however, I couldn’t maintain my sessions with Halley and that would be disastrous. In a year, all I had accomplished with her was a transference of her fixation from Stick. Where could I go in New York, be useful, and still available to Halley? There seemed to be only one choice.
Since it might not be easy to pull off, I waited until Halley left on a week-long trip to the West Coast — a key experience since Edgar was going along and she expected to begin their affair. “He wants me,” she told me during a morning phone session two days before they left. “He booked us onto the same floor of the Four Seasons.” She confessed to some nervousness about having sex with Edgar.
“Why?” I asked innocently, hoping she would make the leap without a push.
“I haven’t had sex—” she laughed. “Real sex, I mean, since Jack. That’s almost six months.” She crunched toast.
“You forgot Didier.”
“Oh Didier, right.” She swallowed. “That’s still almost six months. But you’re right.” She sipped coffee. There was a pause, then the test. “Do you love me?”
Once again, no progress. “I love you,” I said and noted with grim amusement that my temples had begun to throb.
They left for California Sunday night. We would miss our morning call for the first time in eight months, since by eight A.M. New York time, I drove to Riverdale, and I expected to be busy by ten-thirty when she woke up in L.A. The clinics lot was filled. Four shelter vans occupied all the visitor spots. I parked on the street. Naturally, I didn’t recognize most of the kids gathered in the hall. One of the full-time counselors saw me and blurted out, “Rafe?”
I nodded and hurried into Sally’s room. She had a phone halfway to her ear, a finger poised to hit buttons. She stared at me, frozen in position.