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Authors: Douglas Kennedy
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didn’t let me go. On the contrary, he spent every possible hour he could with me. Which, from my standpoint, was never enough … but which also fueled the intensity of the affair. I actually loathe that word, ‘affair’ - because of its cheap, sordid connotations. This was love. Pure, undiluted love. Love that took place between six and eight p.m., twice a week, at my apartment. And frequently at lunchtime in a midtown hotel, three blocks away from our office. Of course I wanted to see more of him. When he wasn’t with me - especially late at night - I actually pined for him. The longing was insane. Because I knew that I had found the one person on the planet destined for me. Yet I was determined to remained outwardly disciplined about my feelings for Peter. We both knew what a dangerous game we were playing - and how everything could fall apart if we became the hot subject of office gossip … or worst yet, if Jane found out.
And so, at the office, we remained rather formal with each other. He covered his tracks carefully on the home front - never arousing suspicion by staying out later than expected, keeping at my place the same toiletries he used at home, never letting me dig my nails into his back.
‘That’s the first thing I’m going to do on the first night we move in together,’ I said, gently caressing his bare shoulders. It was a December evening, just before Christmas. We were lying in bed, the sheets askew, our bodies still damp.
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he said, kissing me deeply. ‘Because I’ve decided to tell Jane.’
My adrenalin went into overdrive. ‘You serious?’
‘As serious as I’ve ever been.’
I took his face between my hands. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’
Without hesitation he said, ‘Yes, absolutely.’
We agreed that he wouldn’t break the news to Jane until after Christmas - which was, after all, just four weeks off. We also agreed that I’d start apartment hunting for us straight away. After wearing out a lot of shoe leather, I actually found us a really cute two-bedroom place with a partial river view on Riverside and 112th. It was a few days before Christmas. I decided to give Peter a big surprise the next night (when, per usual, we were due to meet at my apartment around six) by bringing him to see our future home. He was over an hour late getting to my place. As soon as he walked in, I was scared. Because I could see that something was very wrong. He slumped down into my sofa. I immediately sat down next to him, and took his hand.
‘Tell me, darling.’
He refused to meet my eye. ‘It seems … I’m moving to LA.’
It took a moment or two to register. ‘LA? You? I don’t understand.’
‘Yesterday afternoon, around five, I got a call at my office. A call from Bob Harding’s secretary, asking if I could pay our company chairman a little visit. Like tout de suite. So up I went to the thirty-second floor, and into the great man’s office. Dan Downey and Bill Maloney from Corporate Affairs were both there. Harding asked me to sit down, and cut straight to the chase. Creighton Anderson - the head of the LA office - just announced that he was off to London to run some big division of Saatchi & Saatchi. Which meant the job of LA boss was now open, and Harding had had his eye on me for some time, and …’
‘They offered you the job?’
He nodded. I took his hand. ‘But this is wonderful, darling. This is, in a way, what we wanted. A clean break. A way to establish our own life. And, of course, if there’s a conflict about you hiring me to work in the LA office, no problem. It’s a big market, LA, I’ll find something. I can do LA …’
He interrupted this manic, scared rant. ‘Katie, please …’
His voice was barely a whisper. He finally turned toward me. His face was drawn, his eyes red. I suddenly felt ill.
‘You told her first, didn’t you?’ I said.
He turned away from me again. ‘I had to. She is my wife.’
‘I don’t believe
And so, at the office, we remained rather formal with each other. He covered his tracks carefully on the home front - never arousing suspicion by staying out later than expected, keeping at my place the same toiletries he used at home, never letting me dig my nails into his back.
‘That’s the first thing I’m going to do on the first night we move in together,’ I said, gently caressing his bare shoulders. It was a December evening, just before Christmas. We were lying in bed, the sheets askew, our bodies still damp.
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he said, kissing me deeply. ‘Because I’ve decided to tell Jane.’
My adrenalin went into overdrive. ‘You serious?’
‘As serious as I’ve ever been.’
I took his face between my hands. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’
Without hesitation he said, ‘Yes, absolutely.’
We agreed that he wouldn’t break the news to Jane until after Christmas - which was, after all, just four weeks off. We also agreed that I’d start apartment hunting for us straight away. After wearing out a lot of shoe leather, I actually found us a really cute two-bedroom place with a partial river view on Riverside and 112th. It was a few days before Christmas. I decided to give Peter a big surprise the next night (when, per usual, we were due to meet at my apartment around six) by bringing him to see our future home. He was over an hour late getting to my place. As soon as he walked in, I was scared. Because I could see that something was very wrong. He slumped down into my sofa. I immediately sat down next to him, and took his hand.
‘Tell me, darling.’
He refused to meet my eye. ‘It seems … I’m moving to LA.’
It took a moment or two to register. ‘LA? You? I don’t understand.’
‘Yesterday afternoon, around five, I got a call at my office. A call from Bob Harding’s secretary, asking if I could pay our company chairman a little visit. Like tout de suite. So up I went to the thirty-second floor, and into the great man’s office. Dan Downey and Bill Maloney from Corporate Affairs were both there. Harding asked me to sit down, and cut straight to the chase. Creighton Anderson - the head of the LA office - just announced that he was off to London to run some big division of Saatchi & Saatchi. Which meant the job of LA boss was now open, and Harding had had his eye on me for some time, and …’
‘They offered you the job?’
He nodded. I took his hand. ‘But this is wonderful, darling. This is, in a way, what we wanted. A clean break. A way to establish our own life. And, of course, if there’s a conflict about you hiring me to work in the LA office, no problem. It’s a big market, LA, I’ll find something. I can do LA …’
He interrupted this manic, scared rant. ‘Katie, please …’
His voice was barely a whisper. He finally turned toward me. His face was drawn, his eyes red. I suddenly felt ill.
‘You told her first, didn’t you?’ I said.
He turned away from me again. ‘I had to. She is my wife.’
‘I don’t believe
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