Rafael Yglesias - Hot Properties

“I’m happy for you too.” He swallowed. Something about this defeat was appalling. It was so fucking unexpected. Lois was an option for him, not a human being capable of hurting him. “I’m sorry I called,” he said.

“You haven’t left her, have you?” she asked, blurting it out, scared and excited.

For the first time he felt better. She still wanted him. She had given up, gotten involved to reassure herself, probably by now almost convinced the new relationship was more than mere compensation.

“I guess you haven’t,” she said after a pause.

“I don’t love her,” he said. His stomach contracted on the words, like a poison hitting his system, shriveling his strength and well-being. “I know that now. I love you.”

“Well—” she began, and there was a choking noise. “It’s too late,” she let out, and now there were tears. “Too late,” she mumbled through them, and hung up.

Betty looked energetic and concentrated as she flipped through the rack of dresses. She stopped at one, frowned, pulled it out partially, and angled it so Patty could see.

“Are we getting that old?” Patty asked.

Betty smiled and let it go. “There’s nothing here.”

They walked outside into a glittering day. After the dark, cool interior of the store, the sun was blinding. Betty turned from it suddenly and stumbled into Patty. “Whoa,” Patty said, holding her up.

Betty looked at her and smiled. “Can you imagine spending your life doing this?”

“Who does?”

“Our mothers.”

“They didn’t shop their whole lives.”

“No?”

“They changed diapers, remember?”

Betty laughed. “No, somehow I don’t think my mother did.” They walked on. Patty wanted to confess to her: get rid of this damn secret, talk it out, find an exit from the ridiculous mess she was in. Betty seemed happy these days, carefree. Patty was glad. She had grown much fonder of Betty, despite her wariness of the business situation they now faced.

“Things are going well with Tony,” Patty said.

“Oh?” Betty said, surprised. She glanced at Patty. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Aren’t they?” Patty asked. She was used to Betty’s moods shifting with the ups and downs of Tony’s life.

“Not for him. I feel good. I’m happy to be publishing your book. I got a good novel last week from Paul Yarmouth—”

“He’s a good agent.”

“—yeah, I think you should talk to him about representing you. Anyway, it’s a terrific, not very commercial novel by a journalist in Seattle, a reporter. Autobiographical novel about his sister’s nervous breakdown and his attempt to help her through it. Really moving book. I think I can get a contract for it.”

“Great.” Patty studied her. “That’s why we’re so happy.”

“That’s right, nurse. I’ve decided Tony’s life is his problem. I can’t give him what he wants.”

“What does he want? What do any of them want?”

“He wants to be famous. Sometimes I think he wants to be famous without having to do anything.” She brought a hand to her mouth, actually covering it for a moment. “I shouldn’t say that.” She checked with Patty. “That’s a horrible thing to say, isn’t it?”

“Not if it’s true.” This was her friend, she realized. This was the person who had done something for her only because she cared to help. Betty was cowardly, she was too prim, she was often abstracted, but she had given Patty advice, support, and a contract without even asking for a kiss, much less a blow-job. “Let’s get a cup of coffee.”

“Oh, no. I’ve gotta keep going. This is the last day I can shop for two weeks. And everything will be gone by then.”

“I have to talk to you about something.”

“No …” Betty said, looking at Patty with dread. “You’re not having an affair, are you?”

Patty smiled at her, amazed. “How did you know? Am I that transparent?”

“Yeah,” Betty said. “You’ve been acting weird for months. First I thought it was because I was editing you. But I figured it out two weeks ago. You’ve been very hard to pin down for midday dates, and when I called yesterday and got David, he made a joke about how often we’ve been seeing each other. I haven’t seen you that much.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into it.”

“It’s okay.” She put an arm through Patty’s. “We have to stick together.” Amazing. A year ago Betty would have been disgusted and offended to have been used as part of an adulterous lie. “Who is it?”

“That’s why I haven’t told you. Who. You have to promise you’re not going to be furious—”

Betty looked funny suddenly, her eyes going blank, her jaw slackening, like someone shocked and fearful. “Maybe …” she mumbled.

“Maybe? No, you have to promise.”

She pulled her arm out. “I can’t promise!” she said furiously.

“What’s the matter?”

Betty stopped walking, put her hands in her pockets, and looked composed, though her eyes were dark with challenge. “Who is it?”

“Oh God,” Patty said, convinced she had made a mistake. After all, her affair with Gelb might affect Betty’s career, and Betty had so much prudery in her anyway that the likelihood she would disapprove was great. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You can’t stop now,” Betty answered. “Tell me.”

“Gelb. You have to understand. He propositioned me the week you were going to the ed board to transfer my contract. He told—”

“Gelb!” Betty finally said, squinting with disbelief. “Gelb?”

“Yeah, I know it’s disgusting. But he told me …” She babbled on about his telling her of his coming move to Garlands, her decision that she couldn’t make the same mistake twice, her conviction that it would help her book. Betty looked baffled and then bemused — unexpected reactions. She seemed relieved. Patty left out of her account that she felt herself becoming emotionally dependent on Gelb, drawn to his evil in spite of her better instincts, fascinated now with what used to disgust her.

“What’s he like?” Betty finally interrupted. “He’s disgusting. He lords it over me, his power, how he can help the book.”

“No, I …” Betty looked embarrassed, smiling to herself. “I shouldn’t ask.”

“You mean, what’s he like in bed?”

Betty nodded.

“Compulsive workaholic, like everything else. It’s kinda great.”

Betty smiled. “We’re getting old,” she said, looking earnestly into Patty’s eyes.

“I am. I’m having this disgraceful affair with an old man. Not you.”

“No,” Betty said, and put her arm through Patty’s, resuming their walk. “Because I’m thinking while you talk: This is awful. How can I talk Patty into breaking it off—”

“I’ll end it,” Patty pleaded.

But Betty hugged her arm tighter. “No, listen. I’m thinking. She’s got to get out of it. David’s a great guy — she’s gonna ruin her writing by thinking the book’s success is due to the affair, she’s—” Betty stopped and smiled slyly. “And all the time I’m worried about saying anything to you now, because I’m also thinking: She’s got to break this off — but not before the paperback auction.”

Patty looked at her, searching for a hint that Betty was kidding. “No,” Patty said tentatively.

Betty nodded. “Oh yeah.” She looked away, up at the rows of glass buildings awash with sunlight, blinking. “I’m old too,” Betty said, and squeezed Patty’s arm as though it were a life preserver. “I’m old too.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, holding a black dog — barking at David, but not ferociously — by its collar and leading it into another room. “Put your clothes on that chair”—she pointed to a small white round table with a single chair.