Douglas Kennedy - The Pursuit of Happiness

'Not very portable'.

He went over to my desk and lifted up my Remington. 'I could carry that', he said.

'I'm sure you could. But why would you?'

'I have an idea'.

Two days later, I was on a morning train to Albany with Jack. We checked into the Capital Hotel as Mr and Mrs Jack Malone. While he went off to see his clients, I sat down at the desk in our room and punched out a 'Real Life' column on my Remington. Jack came back from his appointments around five. I had him undressed within a minute. Half an hour later, he lit up a cigarette and said, 'This is, without doubt, the sexiest thing that's ever happened to me in Albany'.

'I should hope so', I said.

It was fifteen below in Albany, so we stayed in that night and ordered room service. The next morning Jack braved the elements to deal with a few more clients. I took a brisk walk around downtown - and decided that I had seen enough of Albany for one morning. So I retreated back to our room, punched out half of my movie column on my Remington, then killed the afternoon at a wonderfully cheesy Victor Mature double-feature (Samson and Delilah and Wabash Avenue) at a nearby RKO fleapit. I was back at the hotel by five thirty. As I was about to open the door of our room, I could hear Jack on the phone.

'All right, all right - I know you're angry, but... what's one more night?.. Yeah, yeah, yeah... you're right... but, hey, it's not like I want to be away... You know I love you... Look, an extra night in Albany probably means another ten bucks this week... Okay, okay... You too, darling... Tell Charlie I love him... and yeah, five o'clock tomorrow without fail... Okay, bye'.

I waited a moment, then opened the door. Jack was lighting up a cigarette and pouring a shot of Hiram Walker bourbon into a hotel tooth glass. He tried to force a smile, but looked strained. I came over, put my arms around his neck and said, 'Tell me'.

'It's nothing'.

'It's hardly nothing if it's making you look so tense'.

He shrugged. 'Just a bad business call, that's all'.

I let go of his neck, walked into the bathroom, took the remaining tooth glass off the sink, returned to the room and poured myself two fingers of bourbon.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

'I hate being lied to'.

'How have I lied to you?'

' "Just a bad business call." I heard who you were talking to on the phone'.

'What do you mean, you heard?'

'I mean, I was standing outside the door...'

'Eavesdropping?'

'I didn't want to walk in right when you were speaking with Dorothy'.

'Either that or you wanted to listen in...'

'Why the hell would I want to listen in, Jack?'

'I don't know. You were the one who was standing outside the door...'

'That's because I didn't want to put you in an uncomfortable position by bursting into the room...'

'I'm sorry', he said suddenly.

'Never lie to me, Jack. Never'.

He turned away, looking out the grimy window at the dim lights of downtown Albany. 'I just thought... I don't know... the last thing you wanted to hear was that I'd had a fight with Dorothy'.

'You're a fool, Malone. I may not like the idea you're married, but that's the territory you occupy - and I accept that. But if this is going to continue, you'll have to keep lying to Dorothy. If you can handle that, fine. If you can't, I'll catch the last train back to Grand Central tonight'.

He turned and touched my arm. 'Don't catch that train'.

'What was the argument about?'

'She wanted me back tonight'.

'Then you should have gone home'.

'But I wanted to stay here with you'.

'Much appreciated - but not when you start lying to me, in order to cover up lying to Dorothy'.

'I'm a jerk'.

I managed a smile.

'No - you're a married jerk. Is she suspicious?'

'Not at all. Just lonely. And I'm so damn muddled. There are times when I wish Dorothy wasn't so decent and understanding. If she was a bitch...'

'Everything would be fine?'

'I wouldn't feel so bad'.

'Poor, poor you: she's not a bitch'.

'God, you can be a hard case, he said.

'That's because I have to be. It's not easy loving someone with divided loyalties'.

'They're not really that divided. I adore you'.

'But you are also committed to her'.

He shrugged. And said, 'I have no choice'.

'So, you're dealing with a conundrum. The question is: are you going to let the conundrum remain insoluble?'

'What do you suggest I do?'

'Work out a way of being with me and with Dorothy. Compartmentalize. Be French'.

'Can you handle that?'

'I don't know. Time will tell. The real question is: can you handle it, Jack?'

'I don't know either'.

'Well, I'd try to figure that one out, Jack. Because if this romance becomes one long exercise in bad conscience, I'll walk. I know what I can - and cannot - expect out of this. It's up to you, my love'.

We returned to Manhattan the next morning. At Grand Central Station, he held me tightly.

'I'd better stick close to home for the next few days', he said.

'That's probably smart'.

'Can I call you?'

'Do you really have to ask that question?'

He kissed me lightly on the lips.

'Love you', he said.

'You sound tentative'.

'I'm trying not to be'.

I didn't hear from him the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Naturally, his silence drove me crazy. Because it could only mean one thing: it was over.

The weekend came and went. On Monday, I stayed by the phone all day, just in case. But he never called. Then, at six thirty on Tuesday morning, the doorbell rang. He was standing outside. Behind him, a taxi was waiting in the street. His face lit up when I answered the door - even though I was still in a nightgown and was the picture of post-sleep disarray.

'Are you ready?' he asked.

'Where the hell have you been?' I asked, groggily.

'I'll talk with you about that later. Right now, I want you to get dressed, get packed...'

'I'm not following you'.

'It's simple: we're booked on the eight forty-seven from Penn Station to Washington, DC. We're staying three days at the Mayflower Hotel, and...'

'Jack, I'd like an explanation...'

He leaned forward and kissed me.

'Later, darling. I've got to run to the office before we depart'.

'Who says I'm going. And why the hell are you suddenly springing this on me?'

'Because I just decided to spring this on you ten minutes ago. Track seventeen at Penn Station. Be there no later than eight thirty. Which gives you around ninety minutes to pack and get down there'.

'I don't know, Jack'.

'Yes, you do', he said, kissing me again. 'Bye'.

Before I could say another word, he turned and headed into the taxi. When he got inside, he rolled down the window and shouted, 'Be there'.

Then the taxi headed off.

I went back inside. I kicked a chair. I made a fast, firm decision: I wouldn't be railroaded into running out of town with Jack - just because he'd suddenly decided I should accompany him. Hell, the bum hadn't called me in six whole days. So there was absolutely no way that I was going to capitulate to his demands.

Having reached this judgment, I went straight into my bedroom and packed a suitcase. Then I jumped into the shower, dressed hurriedly, grabbed my typewriter and found a taxi heading south on West End Avenue.

I made the train with around ten minutes to spare. As planned, Jack was waiting for me on the platform. A porter walked ahead of me, my suitcase and Remington balanced on his trolley. Seeing me approach, Jack whipped off his snap-brim hat and bowed with a flourish.

'I'm a fool to be doing this', I said.

'Kiss me', he said.

I gave him a fast buzz on the lips.

'That's not much of a kiss', he said.