New York Echoes by Warren Adler Read Free Book Online

he
asked.
    â€œI’m not sure.”
    Nevertheless, they contacted a real
estate broker and rented a nice house in Hudson, with a garden, surrounded by
trees, and the air, to him at least, seemed fresh and clear.
    It didn’t help. She could still smell
it.
    â€œI’ll never move again,” he told her. He
was beginning to see how this mad affliction was chipping away at their
relationship. He tried to rationalize his situation by characterizing her as
“handicapped.” If she was “handicapped,” he reasoned, he would stand by her no
matter what. “In sickness and in health,” the marriage vow decreed. Taking
refuge in the idea, he felt ennobled by his sacrifice. It was a sacrifice.
    She had given up her job and was working
as a freelancer, doing her work at home. He couldn’t, as he was needed by his
colleagues in face-to-face situations. The commute was exhausting him, making
him irritable and depressed. Of course, she was well aware of what was
happening but was helpless in the face of what was assailing her.
    One day, he came home and she was
wearing a surgical mask obviously impregnated with heavy perfume, which smelled
like lilacs.
    â€œDoes it work?” he asked.
    â€œOnly when I keep it on,” she said, her
speech muffled by the mask. She took it off only to eat and drink and when she
talked on the telephone. She began to sleep with it. The odor of lilacs was so
intense it was giving him headaches. When he complained, she changed the
perfume to other flowered scents, but nothing worked as well as lilacs.
    â€œI can’t stand the smell of it,” he told
her often, trying valiantly to live with it, feeling guilty, finding it more
and more difficult to cope with the smell.
    â€œNow you see what I mean,” she said.
    â€œIt’s driving me crazy.”
    â€œFor me, it’s either that smell or the
other. At least the smell of lilacs doesn’t remind me of the other, the horror
of it.”
    As time went on, he rarely saw her full
face. Her speech behind the mask was muffled and, at times, he found it
difficult to understand her words. The house was inundated with the smell of
lilacs. It permeated everything, even his clothes. His co-workers would comment
about it and after awhile he noticed that they preferred to keep their
distance. He was too embarrassed to explain what it was all about.
    Finally, his boss called him into his
office.
    â€œWhat is it with you, Larry? You stink of
perfume, smells like lilacs. It’s making some people around here nauseous. Are
you wearing this scent?”
    â€œActually no,” he responded. “It’s my
wife’s. It gets into my clothes.”
    â€œYou’d better get rid of that stink,
Larry. Really, it's upsetting people. It’s too heavy. Yuk. I’d prefer if you
left my office now.”
    As he began to leave the office, his
boss called out.
    â€œIt’s either my way or the highway,
Larry.”
    At home, he tried sleeping in another
room and double-washing his shirts and underwear and sending his clothes to the
cleaners very frequently. Nothing helped. He explained the situation to Rachel.
    â€œI may lose my job,” he said.
    â€œOver the smell of lilacs? That’s
ridiculous.”
    â€œNo it isn’t,” he acknowledged. “It’s
driving me crazy as well.”
    The boss kept his word and he was fired.
In some ways it was a blessing because it forced him to confront his situation.
She couldn’t stand the smell of the World Trade Center aftermath, and the lilac
scent was the only palliative that worked for her. And he couldn’t stand the
smell of lilacs.
    He tried working from home, but it was
impossible to live with the scent. By then, love had disappeared, although he
did feel deep compassion for her problem and a new emotion—guilt—was beginning
to take hold. As a temporary solution, he took an apartment in Manhattan and came up on