Man, woman, and child(22)

"Fine," said Sheila, not bothering to inquire what she would be eating. "Is that a new dress? It's very chic."

"It is, but youVe seen it half a dozen times. What's with you today?"

"Nothing," said Sheila, taking a sip of her Bloody Mary.

"Are the girls okay?" Margo asked.

"Of course."

"Bob?"

"Of course. You already asked me."

"Yes, but I wasn't satisfied with the answer. You look preoccupied, Sheil."

In the long-ago college days, Margo had always talked as if watching herself in a mirror. As she grew older, she began redirecting her considerable analytical gifts to those around her. Narcissism, once her all-embracing way of life, was now merely an occasional indulgence. Sheila was to a great extent responsible for this evolution. Her example had inspired Margo to relate to other people.



^'Come on. Sheila, 'fess up. Is something wrong?"

'Tes."

'^What? Tell me/'

As Sheila removed her sunglasses and covered her face with her hand, Margo could see she had been crying.

"What happened?" she asked apprehensively.

*'Bob had an affair." Sheila said it quietly and quickly and then lowered her head.

''Oh, God, Sheila, I don't believe it. Bob is simply not the type. He thinks he's Adam and you're Eve. He wouldn't. Believe me, darling, I'd know the vibes. Bob wouldn't."

"He did," Sheila said almost inaudibly.

"Come on, I read about this syndrome in Psychology Today—01 was it Passages? It's common at your age.

"Our age" Sheila interrupted with a little smile.

"Well," Margo temporized (she was "midthir-ties" and intended to remain so for some time to come), "women near their forties have this kind of lapse in confidence. They start to imagine—"

"It's not my imagination."

"Oh?"

Sheila raised her head.

"He told me."

"Oh."

Margo looked at her former roommate and, with genuine shock in her voice, added, "This is really upsetting, Sheil."

"I know," said Sheila, who had hoped Margo might be a little less emotional and more dispassionately comforting.

"Listen, they sometimes lie. When I told Frederic I was having an affair with Hal, he told me he was seeing someone in New Jersey—which was a total fabrication. A fictive tat for my very real tit. Can



you imagine. New Jersey?*' And then, upon further reflection, she added, ''Of course. Bob is more mature than Frederic. He's straight as an arrow. Why would he tell you such a wounding thing if it weren't the truth? Sheil, he must be telling the truth."

"He is.''

"But why? YouVe always been so happy." Margo looked at Sheila's weary face.

"The honeymoon is over, Margo." She could not help sounding bitter.

"Sheila, this is absolutely shattering," said Margo, implying that the news was also shattering her few remaining illusions. "Who the hell did he fall for?"

"She was French."

"Ah, I might have known," said Margo, too upset to notice Sheila's use of the past tense. "It would have to be a frangaiSy wouldn't it?"

*'Frangaise/' Sheila quietly emended. It was a reflex. She had regressed to the state of copy editor.

Margo sat silent for a moment, not knowing how to respond. At last she said, "I'm really sorry, Sheila."

Then Sheila gave voice to her greatest agony.

"They had a child."

"That's impossible. Are you sure?"

"Yes. Very."

"Oh, Christ," Margo said as quietly as she could manage, and then, "But why?''

"Bob claims he didn't know."

"Do you believe him?"

"Yes. I think I do."

"Well, what's the French creature's excuse?"

"I don't know," Sheila mumbled. "She's dead."

"What?" Now Margo was totally confused. "You'd better tell me everything. From the beginning."



As she recited the events in sequence. Sheila grew more and more angry. This is so monstrous. What am I doing in this nightmare? Margo took it all in, her eyes widening. When Sheila got to Nicole's death and Bob's confession, Margo could no longer suffer in silence.

"God, Sheila, this beats everything Fve ever heard. I thought Bob was perfect."

''So did I," said Sheila sadly.

There was a pause. Neither woman knew quite what to say.

*'Well," said Margt), desperately trying to find a bright side, "at least you don't have to worry about losing Bob. Did she call the child Beckwith?"

"No."

"Well, maybe you could pretend it's World War Two and Bob was a GI in Europe and—"

"And?"

"And let the matter drop. A lot of women did in those days."