This is a short story by Stephen Dixon that is a part of a
larger collection of short stories.
It is long for this type of thing but it is good. Enjoy.
Goodbye to Goodbye
"Goodbye” and she goes.
I stay there, holding the gift I was about to give her. Had told her I was giving her. This afternoon, on the phone. I said “I’d like to come over with
something for you.” She said “How
come?” I said “Your birthday.” She
said “You know I don’t like to be reminded of those, but come ahead if you want,
around seven, okay” I came. She
answered the door. From the door I could see a man sitting on a couch in the
living room. She said “Come
in.” I came in, gave her my coat,
had the gift in a shopping bag the woman’s store had put it in. “I have a friend here, I hope you don’t
mind,” she said. “Me? Mind? Don’t be silly – but how good a friend?” “My business,” she said, “do you mind?” “No, of course not, why should I? Because you’re right, it is your
business.” We went into the living
room. The man got up. “Don’t get up,” I said. “It’s no bother,” he said. “How do you do? Mike Sliven,” and he stuck out his
hand. “Jules Dorsey,” and I stuck
out mine. “Like a drink Jules?”
She said, as we shook hands, and I said “Yes, what do you have?” “Beer, wine, a little brandy, but I’d
like to save that if you don’t mind.”
“Why should I mind? Though something hard is what I think I’d like. Beer.” “Light or dark?” she said. “Whatever you have most of,” I said. “I have six-packs of both.”
“Then…dark.” I said. “I feel like
a dark. Suddenly I feel very
dark. Only kidding, of course,” I
said to Mike and then turned to her so she’d also see I was only kidding. She went to the kitchen. Mike said “Now I remember your
name. Arlene’s spoken of you.” “I’m sure she had only the very best
things to say of me too.” “She did and she didn’t,” he said, “but you’re
kidding again, no doubt.” “Oh, I’m kidding, all right, or maybe I’m not. Say, who the hell are you anyway and
what the hell you doing here? I
thought Arlene was still only seeing me,” and I grabbed him off the couch. He was much bigger then I, but didn’t
protest. “Where’s your coat and hat? I said and he said “I didn’t come with a
hat and my coat’s over there, in the closet.” “Then we’re going to get it and
you’re going to leave with it.” I clutched his elbow and started walking him to
the closet. Arlene came into the
living room and said “Jules, what are you doing? – and where are you going,
Mike?” “I think out.” He said.
“Out,” I said. “I came over
to give you a gift and take you to dinner for your birthday and later to spend
the night with you here or at my place or even at a great hotel if you wish,
and goddamnit that’s what I’m going to do.” “What is it with you, Jules? – I’ve
never heard you talk like that before.” “Do you mind?” I said. “No, I kind of like it. And Mike. Are you going to leave when someone tells you to, just like
that?” “I think I have to,” he said, “since if there’s one thing I don’t like
to do in life it’s to get into or even put up a fight, especially when I see
there’s no chance of wining it.” I
opened the closet. He got his
coat. I opened the front door and
he left. I locked the door. Bolted it, just in case he already had
the keys. Then I turned around. Arlene was standing in the living room
holding my glass of beer. She came
into the foyer with it. I didn’t
move, just let her come. “You
still want this?” she said. “No,
the cognac,” I said. “It’s brandy
but good imported brandy.” “Then the brandy,” I said. “How do you want it?” “With ice.” “Coming right up,” and she
went back to the kitchen. I
followed her. She was reaching for
the brandy on a cupboard shelf above her, had her back to me. I got up behind her – she didn’t seem
to know I was there – put my arms around her, pressed into her. She turned her head around, kissed
me. We kissed. I started to undress her right there.
That’s
not the way it happened, of course.
The way it happened was like this.
I did come over with a gift, it wasn’t her birthday, a man named Mike
was there when I thought she’d be alone, she said he was a good friend, “in
fact, the man I’m sleeping with now.” “Oh,” I said. “Well, I still have this gift for you so you might as well
take it,” She said “Really, it wouldn’t be fair.” Mike came into the foyer, introduced himself. “Mike Ivory,”
he said. “Jules Dorsey,” I said.
“Maybe I shouldn’t stay.” “No, Jules, come in and have a drink. What’ll you have?” “What do you got?” I
said “Beer-light and dark-wine-red and white-scotch, vodka, rye, bourbon, gin,
brandy and I think a little of that cognac left, and all the mixers to go with
them, besides other nonalcoholic stuff if you’re suddenly into that.” “Come on,
Jules drinks his share, Mike said, “or at least will with us here,” “I drink,
all right.” I said. “Though not that much. But tonight I’d like a double of that cognac you said you
have if you’ve enough for a double.” “Why not - right, Arlene? Want me to get
it?” “It’s okay, I’ll get it,” she said, “but what’s a double?” “Just double
whatever you normally pour, “ he said.
“If there’s so little in the bottle that you don’t have enough to double
what you normally pour, empty the whole thing in his glass.” I just usually
pour, I don’t know how much,” she said. “So do it that way, “ he said, “but
double it.” “Fill half a regular juice glass,” I said, “and then put some ice
in it, if you don’t mind?” “Ice in one of the best cognacs there is?” He
said. “No way sir. Sorry.” “Then make it your worst
cognac,” I said, “But ice in it, please.
I feel like a cognac and I feel like a double and I feel like I want
that double cognac ice-cold.” “Sorry – really,” he said. “We only have one cognac and it’s one
of the rarest there is. Gin,
vodka, bourbon, scotch, even the beer, light or dark, I’ll put ice in for you,
and the wine, either one, too. But
not that cognac or even brandy.
They’re both too good. I’m
telling you the truth when say I couldn’t sleep right tonight if I knew I was
instrumental or helpful in any way or even allowed it, just stood by and
allowed ice in cognac or brandy when I knew just by saying something I might be
able to stop it.” “Listen, you” I said and grabbed his neck with one hand. He swung at me. I ducked and hit him in the stomach, he
fell forward and I clipped him on the back. He went down. I
put my foot under his chest and nudged him with it and he turned himself over
on his back. I looked at Arlene. Her
hands covered her eyes but she seems to be peeking though the finger
cracks. I said to Mike “Probably
Arlene won’t like this but I’m going to give you to ten to get your coat and
hat and – “ “I didn’t come with a coat and hat, he said. “Then ten just to get the hell out of
here.” “Jules, this is awful.” Arlene said, not looking alarmed or frightened
or really upset or anything like that.
“I don’t care. It’s what I
suddenly felt like doing even if I didn’t feel that right about doing it so
that’s what I did. Now get buddy,”
I said to Mike. “One, two, three…” He got up, help his stomach as he went to
the front door. By the count of
eight he was out the apartment.
She said “I hate when anyone does that to people, but I think deep
inside I loved it when you did it to him.
Not because it was Mike.
He’s very nice. It’s just
that you were, well - I’ve never seen you like that before. I don’t know what that makes me, but
come here, you rat.” I came to
her. She mussed my hair, with her
other hand slipped off one and then the other of her shoes. “Shall we do it here or in the
bedroom?” “Here,” I said, “or the opening part of it, but first let me lock the
front door.”
That’s not the way it happened either. I happened like this. Arlene’s my wife. We’ve been married for three
years. We lived together for two
years before that. We have a
nine-month-old son. During dinner
Arlene said she wanted a divorce.
Our son was asleep in his room.
I’d just put the main dish and side dish course on the table. I dropped my fork. I was in what could be called a state
of shock. I don’t like that term
but for now it’ll have to do.
Figuratively and maybe in some way literally - technically,
scientifically – was in a state of shock.
I didn’t move for I don’t know how long. A minute, two, three.
Just stared at my fork on my plate. Till the moment she told me this I though that though we had
some problem in our marriage, they were manageable and correctable and not
untypical and that we were serious at working them out. All in all I felt we were very
compatible in most ways and that the marriage was a successful one and getting
better all the time. Arlene had
said it several times- many times- too.
About once a month she used to tell me that she loved me and loved being
married to me and about once a month, and not just after she told me this, I’d
tell her the same thing. I meant
it and felt she meant it. I had no
reason to believe she didn’t mean it.
This is the truth.
Sometimes out of the blue she’d say “I love you, Jules.” Sometimes I’d
answer “You do?” and she’d say “Truly love you.” We could be in a taxi and
she’d turn to me and say it. Or
walking to a movie theater or in front of a theater during intermission of a
play and she’d break off whatever either of us was saying to say it. At that dinner, which I cooked – it was
a good dinner, a how to do - a backed zucchini dish, a great salad, a good
bottle of wine, crabmeat cocktail to begin with, two drinks with cheese on
crackers before we sat down, we had made love the previous night and we both
said later on that it was one of best acts of lovemaking we’d ever had, our son
was wonderful and we loved being parents though admitted it was tough and
tiring at times, both of us were making pretty good income for the first time
in out marriage so as a family we were financially sound, nothing was wrong or
just about nothing, everything or just about everything was right, so that’s
why I say I was suddenly in a state of shock. “You want a divorce.” “Whatever for?”
“Because I don’t love you anymore,” she said. “But just last week or the week
before that you said you loved me more then you ever have, or as much as you
ever have, you said.” “I was lying.” “You wouldn’t lie about something like
that.” “I’m telling you, I was lying,” she said. “Why don’t you love me
anymore?” “Because I love someone else.” “Since when?” I said. “Since months.” “And you stopped loving
me the minute you started loving him?” “No, a couple of months earlier.” “Why?”
“I don’t know. I asked myself the
same thing lots of times and all I could come up with was that I felt rather
then knew why. You fall in, you
fall out. You fall out, you fall
in. Though this time I’m sure I’ve
fallen in forever, since the feeling has never been stronger.” “I can’t believe
it,” I said. “Believe it. I’ve been having the most intense
affair possible with a man I met at work - someone you don’t know- and he’s
married but will get a divorce to be with me, just as I’m going to get a
divorce to be with him.” “But the children, I mean the child,” I said. “We’ll work it out. We were always good at working things
out in the past that most other couples never could, and we’ll work this out
too. I’ll take Kenneth for the
time being and when he’s completely weaned you can have him whenever you like
for as long as you like so long as it doesn’t disrupt his life too much,” “But just leaving me, divorcing me,
breaking up the family, will disrupt his life,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to, I in fact
tried not to, but the force of the feeling I have for this man and he for me- “
“What’s his name?” “What’s the difference?” “Just tell me his name? Maybe I do know him.” “Even if you did,
which you don’t, nothing you could do or say- “ “His name, please, his
name? I just want to know what and
whom I’m up against.” “What could you know by just his name? If it was Butch or
Spike or Mike, would it make you feel more or less confident that I’m not very
much in love with him and that I’m not going to divorce you to marry him?” “Is
it Mike?” “It isn’t but you now that wasn’t my point. – All right, it is Mike,” when I continued to stare at her
as if I’d caught her fibbing, “but so what? Mickey, Michael or Mike, it’s just
a given name.” “Mike what? I said. “Now that’s enough, Jules. I don’t want you starting trouble.” “I
won’t start anything. I just want
to know the man’s full name. That
way I can begin saying to myself you’re leaving and divorcing me and breaking
up our family for Mike So-and-So and not just a shadow. I’m not sure why, but it’ll make it
seem realer to me and it will be much easier to work out in my head,”
“Spiniker” she said. “Mike Spiniker.” “With an ‘i,’ ‘a’ or ‘e’ or even a ‘u’ on
the second half of his last name?” “Now you’re going too far,” she said. “Anyway,
good - I have enough.” I got up,
got the phonebook off the phone stand in the living room. “What are you doing?” she said. “Can’t be too many Mike Spinikers in
the book with an ‘z,’ ‘e,’ ‘u’ or second ‘i.’ “I looked up his name. “One, a Michael, with two i’s on Third
Avenue.” I dialed him. “Stop that.” She said. “He lives in another city, commutes here,” A women answered.
“Is Michael Spiniker in?” I said.
“Who’s speaking?” the women said.
“Lionel Messer. I’m his
stocks and bonds man.” “Mike has stocks and bonds?” That’s new to me.” “He has
a huge portfolio of them and I’ve something very urgent to tell him about them
if he doesn’t want to go broke by midnight tonight.” “I’ll get him, hold on.”
She put down the phone. “Stop wasting your time, “ Arlene said on the bedroom
extension. “Hang up. It can’t be him. I’m telling you, he lives fifty miles
from here.” “Hey what’s this about stock and bonds?” Mike said. “Hello, Mr. Spiniker. Do you know Arlene Dorsey? Arlene
Chernoff Dorsey – she goes professionally by Chernoff.” “Sure I do. We work in the same office
building. But anything wrong?
Because I thought this was about some stocks and bonds I don’t have.” “You seem
very concerned about Ms. Chernoff.
Are you?” “Sure I’m concerned.
By your tone, who wouldn’t be?” What’s happened?” “You sound as if
you’re in love with Ms. Chernoff, Mr. Spiniker. Are you?” “Listen, who is this?
And what kind of jerky call is this? You either dialed the wrong Spiniker of
you’re crazy and not making any sense, but I’ll have to hang up.” “This is her
husband, wise guy, and you better stop seeing her or I’m going to break your
neck with my bare hands. If that
doesn’t work, I’ll put a bullet through your broken neck. I have the means. And I don’t mean a weapon or two or
people to do it for me – I’ll do it gladly myself. I can. I
have. Now do you read me?” “I read
you, brother. Okay, fine. You have the right number and you’re
not crazy and you’re probably right on target in everything you said, so my
deepest apologies for getting excited at you. But let’s say there must be two Michael Spinikers in this
city because I have no stock and bonds broker and after what you told me, I
don’t ever plan to do anything with my money but keep iy in the bank, okay?”
“Got you,” I said and hung up.
Arlene came running back to the living room. “You’d do that for me?
You’d’ really go that far?” “I wasn’t just threatening for effect of it because
I knew you were on the line. The
way I see our marriage is that until it’s clearly impossible to stay together,
we’re stuck together for life. If
course I only feel this way cause of the kid.” “I bet. You know, awful as this must seem about
me, I think my feelings have come around another hundred and eighty
degrees. What a husband I now
realize I have. And what a
weakling and pig that he was for taking it the way he did, even if you weren’t
all bluff, after all he swore the other day about how he’s stand with me
against you and his wife when it finally came down to this. I’m sorry, Jules. So sorry. I want to beat my brains in
against this chair. If my saying I
love you very much isn’t enough, what else can I say or do to prove what I just
said is true and that I never want to stop being married to you?” “You can take
my clothes off and carry me to bed.” “Will do if I can.” She put her arms
around my waist and tried to lift me. “Oof, what a load. Instead of carrying you, which I no can
do, what would you say to my just taking your clothes off and we do whatever
you want to us right here on the floor or couch?” “Fine by me,” I said and she
grabbed my shirt by the two collar ends and tore it off me.
That’s ridiculous also and never happened. Why not say what really did happen and
be done with it? It was all very
simple and fast. We were eating
dinner when she said she was leaving me for a man named Mike. We had no child, we’d been married for
eight years. I said I wouldn’t try to stop her. I could see it’d be useless and I did only want her to be
happy. If she couldn’t be happy with
me, I was glad she was with someone she could be happy with. She said she was thankful I was taking
it so well and in such a decent way.
I asked about him. She said
he worked in a law office on the same floor as hers. They’d been carrying on for six months. He was divorced, had two children. That night Arlene and I slept in
separate rooms for the first time in our marriage, or for the first time when
one of us wasn’t very angry at the other or wasn’t so ill that he or she needed
to sleep alone. We just thought it
best to sleep separately till she moved out. They rented a new apartment together the following
month. I helped her pack and bring
her belongings to the van she rented and drove. I told her I wouldn’t mind if Mike came and helped, since
she had several vanfulls of stuff to move. She said she felt I shouldn’t meet him till much later on:
when they were married, perhaps; maybe a year into their marriage when I could
come by with my new woman who she said she knew I’d have by then. “You’ll be as much in love with someone
else in a few month as I am now with Mike.” I said “I hope you’re right. It’ll certainly be what I want.” So she
was gone. I thought I was taking
it well but I wasn’t. I couldn’t
take it, in fact. Every night I’d
get drunk thinking about her. I
read her old adoring note and letters to me and looked at her photos and would
slam the wall or table with my fists and shout and cry. I couldn’t stand thinking of her being
with another man, kissing him, whispering to him, making love with him, doing
all those private things with him, confiding to him, telling him what happened
to her at the store that day, asking him if he’d like to see such and such
movie or play that week, meeting him for lunch, going away with him some weekend,
visiting friends, maybe even planning to have a child. It also distressed me that they were in
the same profession. I knew that’d make them even closer, all those
professional matters they could discuss and look up and share. A month after she left me I showed up
in front of their office building at around the time I know they’d be finished
for the day. They walked out of
the building fifteen minutes later, holding hands, chatting animatedly. I had a wrench with me. I pulled it out of my jacket, ran up to
him and screamed “Meet Jules, her husband, you bastard,” and hit him in the
hand he threw up to protect his head from the wrench. He grabbed that hand, turning to run and I hit him in the
back of the head with the wrench.
He went down. I kept
yelling “I’ll never let her be with anyone else, you bastard, never. I love her too much. I’ll love her forever,” and swung the
wrench over his face but didn’t hit him again. The police came.
I didn’t try to get away. I
don’t know what Arlene was doing at the time. I was arrested.
Mike was taken away in an ambulance. Later he pressed charges against me. I pleaded guilty and was sentenced to
five years. That means I’ll serve
around thee and a half years if I don’t cause any trouble in prison. Arlene
visits me every day she’s allowed to and stays the maximum time. It’s six hours by bus for the round
trip but she says she doesn’t mind.
Twice in my first half year we were allowed to walk around the prison
garden for an hour. She broke off with Mike and he’s already moved in with
another women. “So much for his
professed eternal devotion,” Arlene said, “not that I would want it now.” She’s said several times that she will
never again be with another man but me.
She hated me hitting Mike with the wrench but sees now it was probably
the only way I could ever get through to her how much I loved her and wanted to
get her back. “In some oddball
way,” she said, “it made me fall or you all over again. Maybe also because what I did and the
way I did it forced you to lose control and try to kill him and I’m trying to
make up for that too. But it’ll
all be different from now on. I
can’t wait to be back home with you, my arms around you, in bed with you, I
can’t wait.” At certain designated spots in the garden we’re allowed to hug and
kiss for a half-minute, which we always did past the time limit till one of the
guards order us to stop.
That’s not it.
This is it. There wasn’t a
wrench. There is a Mike. My wife fell in love with him and told
me this at breakfast, not dinner.
She said she didn’t want to tell me at night because she wanted to give
me plenty of time to adjust to it before I went to bed and also time for her to
get her things out of the apartment and move in with a friend. We have no child. We tried foe a while but couldn’t. Then I had a corrective operation and
we could have a child, but she said the marriage wasn’t as good as it used to
be and she wanted to be sure it was a very good marriage before we had a
child. That was three years
ago. She’s had several affairs
since then. She told me about them
while she was having them. I
didn’t like her having them but put up with it because I didn’t want her to
leave me. I don’t know why I
mentioned anything about a gift.
Maybe because her birthday’s in two weeks and I’ve been thinking
recently about what to get her. A
bracelet, I thought. But that’s
out. This morning she said she
realized this is the third or fourth serious affair she’s had in three
years. She’s had one or two others
but they were quick and not so serious.
She doesn’t want to continue having affairs while she’s married or at
least still living with me. It
isn’t fair to me, she said. She
also said I shouldn’t put up with it and shouldn’t have in the past. Not that if I had told her to stop she
would have she said. But I should
tell her to get the hell out of the house and should have two or three years
ago. Since I won’t, she’ll have to
leave me. That means divorce. She said.
The marriage is so bad that she doesn’t think it’ll ever work out - it
never will, that’s all, never. And
because she wants to have children, maybe two, maybe three, but with someone
she’s very much in love with, she’ll have to end our marriage and eventually
get married to someone else. Maybe
it’ll be with Mike but she doubts it.
He’s married, but about to separate from his wife, and he has indicated
he never wants to marry again. He
also has two children from a previous marriage and has expressed no interest in
having more. Anyway, she said,
it’s fairer if I stay here and she goes, since she’s the one breaking up the
marriage. Of course, if I wanted
to leave, she said she’ll be more then happy to stay, since it’s a great
apartment and one she can afford and she’ll never be able to get anything like
it at twice the rent. “If you don’t mind,” I said, “I think I’d like to keep
the apartment. Losing you and also
having to find a new place might be a little too much for me.” “I don’t mind,”
she said, “why should I mind? I already said the apartment’ is yours if you
want. So, do you mind if I start
to pack up now to go?” “No, go right ahead. I’d love for you to stay forever, naturally, but what could
I do to stop you from going? Nothing, I guess, right?” “Right.” She went to the
bedroom. I brought the dishes into
the kitchen, washed them, sat down at the small table there and looked at the
river. She same into the living
room an hour later with two suitcases and a duffel bag. “This ought to do it for now,” she
said. “It it’s okay with you, I’ll
arrange with a friend to come by for the rest of my stuff some other time.”
“Sure,” I said. “You moving in
with this Mike?” “No, I told you, he’s married, still living with his wife. I’ll be staying with Elena for
now. If you want to reach me for anything,
you can get me there or at work.
You have her number?” “I can look it up.” “But you won’t call me at
either place for very personal reasons, will you? Such as saying how much you
miss me or things like that and you want me back? Because I’ve definitely made
up my mind, Jules. The marriage is
finished.” “I understand that. I
mean, I don’t understand why it’s so definitely finished, but I so understand
that you definitely feel it is.
But I can’t make just one more pitch? There’s nothing I can do or say or promise to help you
change your mind?” “Nothing.” “Then goodbye,” I said. “I’ll miss you
terribly. I love you
tremendously. I’ll be as sad as
any man can be over a thing like this for I don’t know how long. But that’s my problem, not yours, I
guess, and eventually I’ll work it out.” “I’m glad you’re taking it like
this. Not that you’ll be sad - O
don’t want you to be like that – but at least that you see the situation for
what it is and that in the long run you’ll be able to handle it. Because it’ll make it much easier - it
already is- for both of us. You’ll see.
You’ll get over me before you now it.” “Not on your life,” I said. “Yes you will.” “I’m telling you. Never.” “No, I know you will. Goodbye.” She opened the door, put the suitcases right outside it,
said “I’ll be back for these in a minute,” and carries the duffel bag
downstairs. “I’ll help you with
the suitcases,” I yelled down the stairs.
“No need to,” she said.
“It’d actually be better if you closed the door so we won’t have to say
goodbye again.” I shut the
door.
