Give Me Your Heart by Joyce Carol Oates Read Free Book Online Page B

Nyack everyone has been talking about, and Leonard laughed, with a nod toward the window beside
his seat where some distance below the oily dark sprawl of the Hudson River was lapsing into dusk: “Ever think, Melanie, that river is like a gigantic boa constrictor? It’s like time,
eventually to swallow and digest us all?”
    Melanie laughed sharply as if not hearing this, or hearing enough to know that she didn’t really want to hear more of it. Promising she’d tell Sam hello from him and she’d call
Valerie very soon, with a faint, forced smile lurching away somewhere behind Leonard Chase to her seat.
    He would track down the first husband, he would erase the man from consciousness. He would erase the man’s memory, in which his own wife existed. Except he was a
civilized human being, a decent human being, except he feared being apprehended and punished, that was what he would do.
    Early November when he’d discovered the Key West photos. Late February when his CEO called him into his office in the tower.
    The meeting was brief. One or two others had been taken to lunch first, which had not been a good idea; Leonard was grateful to be spared lunch. Through a roaring in his ears he heard. Watched
the man’s piranha mouth. Steely eyes through bifocal glasses like his own.
    Downsized. Stock options. Severance pay. Any questions?
    He had no legal grounds to object. Possibly he had moral grounds, but he wouldn’t contest it. He knew the company’s financial situation. Since 9/11 they’d been in a tailspin.
These were facts you might read in the Wall Street Journal. Then came the terrible blow, unexpected—at least, Leonard believed it to be unexpected—the ruling in Atlanta: a
federal court judge upheld a crushing $33 million award to a hotel-chain plaintiff plus $8 million in punitive damages. The architectural firm for which he’d worked for the past seven years
was hard hit. Conceding yes, he understood. Failure was a sickness that burned like fever in the eyes of the afflicted. No disguising that fever, like jaundice-yellow eyes.
    Soon to be forty-six. Burned out. The battlefield is strewn with burned-out litigators. His fingers shook, cold as a corpse’s, yet he would shake the CEO’s hand in parting, he would
meet the man’s gaze with something like dignity.
    He had the use of his office for several more weeks. And the stock options and severance pay were generous. And Valerie wouldn’t need to know exactly what had happened, possibly ever.
    “. . . seem distracted lately, Leonard. I hope it isn’t . . .”
    They were undressing for bed. That night in their large, beautifully furnished bedroom. Gusts of wind rattled the windows, which were leaded windows, inset with wavy glass in mimicry of the old
glass that had once been, when the original house had been built in 1791.
    “. . . anything serious? Your health . . .”
    From his corner of the room Leonard called over, in a voice meant to comfort, that of course he was fine, his health was fine. Of course.
    “Damned wind! It’s been like this all day.”
    Valerie spoke fretfully, as if someone were to blame.
    Neither had brought up the subject of the trip to Italy in some time. Postponed to March, but no specific plans had been made. The tenth anniversary had come and gone.
    In her corner of their bedroom, an alcove with a built-in dresser and closets with mirrors affixed to their doors, Valerie was undressing as, in his corner of the bedroom, a smaller alcove with
but a single mirrored door, Leonard was undressing. As if casually, Leonard called over to her, “Did you ever love me, Valerie? When you first married me, I mean.” In his mirror Leonard
could see just a blurred glimmer of one of Valerie’s mirrors. She seemed not to have heard his question. The wind buffeting the house was so very loud. “For a while? In the beginning?
Was there a time?” Not knowing if his voice was pleading or threatening. If, if this woman heard, like