Read Online The Pursuit of Happiness (2001) by Douglas Kennedy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Douglas Kennedy
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this.’
‘Bob Harding said that I had to give him a decision by the end of today - and that he knew I’d need to talk things over with Jane first …’
‘You were about to leave Jane, remember? So why didn’t you talk first to the person with whom you were planning to start a new life? Me.’
He just shrugged sadly and said, ‘You’re right.’
‘So what exactly did you tell her?’
‘I told her about the offer, and how I felt this would be a great career move …’
‘You said nothing about us?’
‘I was about to … but she started to cry. Started saying how she didn’t want to lose me, how she knew we’d been growing apart, but was terrified of even talking about it. Because …’
He broke off. Peter - my confident, secure, dauntless, always articulate man - was suddenly tongue-tied and sheepish.
‘Because what?’ I asked.
‘Because -‘ he swallowed hard, ‘ - she thought there might be someone else in my life.’
‘So what did you say?’
He turned away - as if he couldn’t bear to look at me.
‘Peter, you have to tell me what you said.’
He stood up and walked to the window, staring out into the black December night.
‘I assured her … that there was no one else but her.’
It took a moment or two for this to register.
‘You didn’t say that,’ I said, my voice hushed. ‘Tell me you didn’t say that.’
He kept looking out the window, his back to me. ‘I’m sorry, Katie. I’m so damn sorry.’
‘Sorry’s not good enough. Sorry is an empty word.’
‘I am in love with you …’
That’s when I stormed off into the bathroom, slammed the door, bolted it, then sank down to the floor, crying wildly. Peter pounded on the door, begging me to let him in. But my anger, my grief, were so volcanic that I blanked him out.
Eventually the banging stopped. Eventually I regained a modicum of control. I forced myself back on to my feet, unbolted the door, and staggered back to the sofa. Peter had gone. I sat on the edge of the sofa, feeling as if I had just been in a major car crash - that same weird, extra-worldly shock, during which you find yourself wondering: did that just happen?
Operating on auto-pilot, I remembered putting on my coat, grabbing my keys, and leaving.
The next thing I knew, I was in a cab, heading southbound. I didn’t remember much of the ride. But when we arrived at 42nd and First Avenue - pulling up in front of a large elderly apartment complex called Tudor City - it took me a moment or two to recall why I was here, and who I was planning to visit.
I got out of the cab, I walked into the lobby. When the elevator reached the seventh floor, I marched down the corridor and pressed the bell by a door marked 7E. Meg opened it, dressed in a faded light blue terrycloth robe, the usual cigarette plugged into the side of her mouth.
‘So, to what do I owe this surprise … ?’ she said.
But then she got a proper look at me, and turned white. I walked forward, and laid my head against her shoulder. She put her arms around me.
‘Oh, sweetheart …’ she said softly. ‘Don’t tell me he was married?’
I came inside. I burst into tears again. She fed me Scotch. I recounted the entire stupid saga. I spent the night on her sofa. The next morning I couldn’t face the office, so I asked Meg to call up work and tell them I was out sick. She disappeared into her bedroom to use the phone.
When she emerged, she said, ‘You’ll probably call me a meddlesome old broad after I tell you this … but you’ll be pleased to hear that you’re not expected in the office again until the second of January.’
‘What the hell did you do, Meg?’
‘I spoke to your boss …’
‘You called Peter?’
‘Yeah, I did.’
‘Oh Jesus Christ, Meg …’
‘Hear me out. I called him and simply explained that you were a little under the weather today. Then he said that, “under the circumstances”, you should not worry about coming in until January second. So there
‘Bob Harding said that I had to give him a decision by the end of today - and that he knew I’d need to talk things over with Jane first …’
‘You were about to leave Jane, remember? So why didn’t you talk first to the person with whom you were planning to start a new life? Me.’
He just shrugged sadly and said, ‘You’re right.’
‘So what exactly did you tell her?’
‘I told her about the offer, and how I felt this would be a great career move …’
‘You said nothing about us?’
‘I was about to … but she started to cry. Started saying how she didn’t want to lose me, how she knew we’d been growing apart, but was terrified of even talking about it. Because …’
He broke off. Peter - my confident, secure, dauntless, always articulate man - was suddenly tongue-tied and sheepish.
‘Because what?’ I asked.
‘Because -‘ he swallowed hard, ‘ - she thought there might be someone else in my life.’
‘So what did you say?’
He turned away - as if he couldn’t bear to look at me.
‘Peter, you have to tell me what you said.’
He stood up and walked to the window, staring out into the black December night.
‘I assured her … that there was no one else but her.’
It took a moment or two for this to register.
‘You didn’t say that,’ I said, my voice hushed. ‘Tell me you didn’t say that.’
He kept looking out the window, his back to me. ‘I’m sorry, Katie. I’m so damn sorry.’
‘Sorry’s not good enough. Sorry is an empty word.’
‘I am in love with you …’
That’s when I stormed off into the bathroom, slammed the door, bolted it, then sank down to the floor, crying wildly. Peter pounded on the door, begging me to let him in. But my anger, my grief, were so volcanic that I blanked him out.
Eventually the banging stopped. Eventually I regained a modicum of control. I forced myself back on to my feet, unbolted the door, and staggered back to the sofa. Peter had gone. I sat on the edge of the sofa, feeling as if I had just been in a major car crash - that same weird, extra-worldly shock, during which you find yourself wondering: did that just happen?
Operating on auto-pilot, I remembered putting on my coat, grabbing my keys, and leaving.
The next thing I knew, I was in a cab, heading southbound. I didn’t remember much of the ride. But when we arrived at 42nd and First Avenue - pulling up in front of a large elderly apartment complex called Tudor City - it took me a moment or two to recall why I was here, and who I was planning to visit.
I got out of the cab, I walked into the lobby. When the elevator reached the seventh floor, I marched down the corridor and pressed the bell by a door marked 7E. Meg opened it, dressed in a faded light blue terrycloth robe, the usual cigarette plugged into the side of her mouth.
‘So, to what do I owe this surprise … ?’ she said.
But then she got a proper look at me, and turned white. I walked forward, and laid my head against her shoulder. She put her arms around me.
‘Oh, sweetheart …’ she said softly. ‘Don’t tell me he was married?’
I came inside. I burst into tears again. She fed me Scotch. I recounted the entire stupid saga. I spent the night on her sofa. The next morning I couldn’t face the office, so I asked Meg to call up work and tell them I was out sick. She disappeared into her bedroom to use the phone.
When she emerged, she said, ‘You’ll probably call me a meddlesome old broad after I tell you this … but you’ll be pleased to hear that you’re not expected in the office again until the second of January.’
‘What the hell did you do, Meg?’
‘I spoke to your boss …’
‘You called Peter?’
‘Yeah, I did.’
‘Oh Jesus Christ, Meg …’
‘Hear me out. I called him and simply explained that you were a little under the weather today. Then he said that, “under the circumstances”, you should not worry about coming in until January second. So there
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