Jay McInerney - Bright, Precious Days

“Well, you tried,” Hilary said as Russell poured more wine into her glass.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Not for me. For them, though, it’s heartbreaking. They’ll never be okay with you and Corrine not being together.”

“They’re probably going to have to get used to it.”

“Oh, come on. Get over yourself. You think you’re the first husband who’s been cheated on? It happens every day. Wives are supposed to get over it somehow, but when husbands get cuckolded, it’s like the laws of nature have been suspended. With you guys, it’s all about pride.

“You know, I’m kind of an expert on affairs,” she continued, “if I do say so myself. And if there’s one thing I can say with certainty, it’s that if somebody cheats, it’s usually because the other party isn’t giving them what they need. Think about it, Russell. Have you been there for Corrine? Have you been taking care of her needs?”

“If you mean sex, things were fine between us,” he said, immediately registering how hollow it sounded.

“I’m not talking about sex. When a woman goes looking outside the home, she’s looking more for seduction and understanding. She wants to be desired, not just used.”

“And you’re saying I used Corrine?”

“I’m saying it’s something for you to think about. It’s not just about having sex every few weeks.”

“This was a long-term thing; it happened over a couple of years.”

“Maybe you had your head up your ass for a couple of years. Wake up, Russell. Can’t you just forgive her?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to, maybe, but so far I can’t. She lied to me.”

“You’re being such a hypocrite. It’s not like you haven’t cheated on her.”

“Who says I did?”

“You’re saying you never cheated on her?”

He saw no reason to confess to Hilary. “No.”

“Jesus, Russell. What about that banker chick you worked with on your stupid leveraged buyout? And then there was that girl who worked for you, the one who confronted you at Talese’s Christmas party.”

Russell couldn’t believe she knew about these prehistoric transgressions — couldn’t believe that Corrine had confided in her. It felt like yet another betrayal.

“That’s ancient history.”

“And then there was your jaunt to Madam Gretchen’s house a few months ago. So let’s not get too righteous here. She doesn’t even know about that one, but she told me about the others. Maybe she forgave you, but that doesn’t mean she forgot. The point is, she let you off the fucking hook. So maybe you should just get over yourself and think about doing the same for her.”

—

While he called a car for her, she said good night to the kids, who were sprawled on the bed in Jeremy’s room, watching A Christmas Story.

Perhaps it was the influence of a not inconsiderable amount of champagne, but his good-night kiss must have been more intimate than Hilary might have expected from her brother-in-law, because she pushed him away gently, saying, “That’s enough of that.”

When he returned to Jeremy’s room, Ralphie had just opened his yearned-for Red Ryder BB gun.

“Mind if join you?”

He took the silence as assent.

“This is, like, the crappiest Christmas ever,” Jeremy eventually said.

“Sorry, guys.”

“It’s not Dad’s fault.” Storey said.

“I don’t care whose fault it is,” Jeremy said. “I’m mad at Mom and Dad.”

—

Washington made his investment through an LLC formed specifically for the purchase of part of McCane, Slade. They signed the papers on January 13 in Washington’s lawyer’s office, and afterward walked a few blocks south, bundled against the cold, to the Old Town Bar, a former hangout from the old days, where they’d once plotted to take over Corbin, Dern, their erstwhile employer, with borrowed money.

“When I saw the name you used,” Russell said, “I have to say, it aroused my suspicions. Art and Love, LLC?”

“That’s your shtick, isn’t it? An homage to your big theory about the two teams in life. Love and Art, Power and Money. We’re the former, right? What’s to be suspicious?”

“I don’t know. For some reason, I thought I sensed the hand of my wife. Did she, by any chance, give you the money?”

“Where would Corrine find a half mil?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out.”

“You know she’s looking at real estate in Harlem?”

“Still?”

“I’m not sure I approve of white people in Harlem.”

“Not sure I do, either.”

“She wants us to split a town house with you guys.”

“There is no us guys. ”

“Fuck that. You know, you’re way less fun without her. You two are like a hyphenate: Russell-Corrine. You’ve always been the couple that made the rest of us think marriage was even possible. She loves you, not the other guy. But the hell with it — the papers are signed, so you should know, the money is from Corrine. She’s the one who’s saving your ass.”

“Where the fuck would she get that kind of money?”

“She told me it was an inheritance.”

“What inheritance? Her father left what little money he had to his second wife.”

“So maybe she had a rich uncle.”

Russell shook his head, because suddenly, it was perfectly clear. “No, but she does have a boyfriend who’s rich as Croesus.”

“That would be whack. I thought it was over and done.”

“Where else could she find that kind of cash?”

“Does it really matter?”

“Of course it matters. Why do you think she didn’t want me to know it was from her?”

“Because she’s good people. And because she was afraid you wouldn’t take it if you knew it was coming from her.”

“She knew I wouldn’t take it because it’s from that asshole.”

“Either way, Crash, the salient point is, she wanted to save your ass.”

—

His first inclination was to give the money back; the option of accepting a bailout from Corrine’s lover was completely unacceptable. Walking through an icy Union Square, he contemplated the situation. The company was out of cash and his personal savings would last another month at best. If he returned the money, his employees would be out of work in a couple of weeks and he and his children would be on the street within months. At the moment, it was nothing less than a lifeline, and he waffled over it for the next few days, alternately grateful to Corrine and furious at her for putting him in this position, his vast relief that his company had been saved eroded by the feeling that he’d been compromised.

They spoke frequently, their conversations focused on the minutiae of household finances and the logistics of shuttling Storey and Jeremy hither and yon. Corrine’s attempts to initiate discussions about their marital issues had inevitably ended in the same dead end.

The day before Valentine’s Day, after they’d worked out the schedule for the coming weekend, he asked, “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“No romantic dinner?”

“For God’s sake, Russell. With whom would I have a romantic dinner?”

“I’d prefer not to say his name.”

“I haven’t seen him in five months. I told you, I broke it off in September.”

“He didn’t give you half a million dollars?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Does Art and Love, LLC, ring a bell? Wash told me.”

“Told you what?”

“That the money came from you. But, I asked myself, where the hell would you get five hundred K?”

“I sold a painting.”

“That’s a good one. We don’t have a painting worth five thousand. ”