Chapter 3

New York at Christmas is like no other city on Earth. It is as if your elderly mother turned young again and drew everyone back to their childhood. Every street is decked out for the holiday, and the air crackles with excitement.

I took the kids out shopping, ensuring they had enough money to buy presents. We made sure to visit Rockefeller Center with its giant tree and the Metropolitan Museum, all dressed up for the season. Closer to home, we did the Brooklyn Museum and the Botanical Gardens.

As I spent time with my kids at Christmas, I realized how often I had done these seasonal activities without my spouse. Kate had always been busy in the days leading up to Christmas. Now I knew why. It seemed to color the outings in a melancholy gray, dulling the reds and greens of the season.

As usual, this year I began my Christmas shopping in August. By late October, I had wrapped all my presents. I set them aside, each package carefully tagged for the intended recipient. I hid them in the crawl space beneath the flat row house roof. If I saw something during the holiday season or learned of a particular new desire, I would add it to my stash.

Accordingly, I had set aside several gifts for my wife. However, I had no intention of putting them by the tree with the other presents.

Kate arrived home late on December 23. Earlier that day, Ted Barker and his wife, Margaret, dropped by for a holiday visit. Margaret and Kate were close friends – much closer than Ted and I. Margaret greeted me coolly, clearly aware of our marital problems.

Ted helped me get drinks for them.

We were sitting in the living room with our beverages, and my kids were off decorating the tree when Margaret laid into me.

“What kind of idiot are you, Richard?” Margaret began.

“I didn’t say anything!” Ted cut in, arms out and palms up, almost pleading. “Catherine called and spilled the whole story.”

My wife was going on the attack. What I did not understand was why Margaret, a woman I regarded as entirely conventional in an apparently traditional marriage, would so side with my escort wife.

“Open your eyes,” Margaret continued. “Catherine has supported you and this family for sixteen years in the only way available to her. I should think you would be grateful.”

Had morality changed so much that what my wife was doing had become acceptable? Not desirable, but an unattractive occupation that could and would be condoned? What was missing was any sympathy for the husband who was asked to accept a wife selling her body.

I knew I was being too focused on the sex. My wife was selling more than sex. She was selling an illusion. The woman on Don Hastings’s arm was not Kate. She was a fictional character invented by Kate. There clearly had been other incarnations of this character.

I didn’t hate my wife. In a way, I understood what she did and why. However, I didn’t see her as entirely selfless. I knew my Kate, and I knew she enjoyed what she did, both the performance and the sex. She had found the perfect occupation for herself – a career she was born for. I just didn’t see how I could live with it. This was my dilemma.

“Margaret, I don’t see how you can expect me to just accept what Kate has been doing – and fully intends to keep on doing. Moreover, no matter how you explain it, she has been deceiving me for a very long time. I find your opinion on this matter to be strange. Furthermore, I’m sure you would never engage in such conduct, nor would your husband accept your actions if you did,” I lectured her in full lawyer voice.

Margret remained silent for a good while, and then tears began to gather at the corners of her eyes. “It’s just,” she began, “Cathrine is a good person, and I know she loves you more than anything in this world.”

She paused, looked at me pleadingly. “She is a special person. She has a unique perspective on the world because of who she is. I don’t think we should try to hold her to our standards.”

I looked over and saw Ted nodding in agreement with his wife. They were good friends. Still, it’s easier to forgive a friend’s indiscretions than your own wife’s.

We finished our drinks in relative silence. As I showed them out, it was Ted who turned to me and had the last word. “Richard, as your friend rather than your lawyer, please think about what you’re doing.” I nodded and closed the door quietly behind them.

It was about an hour later. I had retreated into my office to do what Ted had suggested: consider. My daughter came in and closed the door.

“I want to talk about what’s going on between you and Mom,” she began.

It was the evening of December 23, and Kate was due home. I knew Connie and Tom were anxiously awaiting her return. Tom had discovered his mother’s occupation after my return from Vegas. Connie said he had asked what was going on.

“I wasn’t going to lie to him,” she told me.

I could feel the tension in the house as we awaited my wife’s return. The excitement and stress of waiting for Kate as Christmas approached was how this family had experienced it for many years. Still, this year, the anxiety was more about what might happen when she returned than the anticipation of her return.

“Connie, this is a truly grown-up thing between a husband and wife. I know it profoundly affects you and Tom. But you are neither the problem nor the solution. Please know that I will always love my children and do everything in my power to keep you from harm.

She was silent for a moment. She was still standing by the door, but she wasn’t looking at me anymore. Tears began to run down her face. “That’s it exactly,” she murmured. “Are we your children?”

This was completely unexpected. It felt as if someone had hit me hard in the chest. There was pain as if from a heart attack, and I completely lost the air in my lungs. I must have cried out because Connie rushed to me, throwing her arms around me and burying her face in my chest as she began to weep inconsolably.

I pulled myself together, realizing my child was suffering a deeper wound than I had been dealt and that I was as culpable as her mother.

“Connie, listen to me. You are my daughter. Thomas is my son. There is nothing and no one who can change that. I love you two with all my heart and soul and always will.”

“If you divorce Mom, a court could say we’re not your children.”

I lifted her chin so she would look at me and began to wipe her tears away with the palms of my hands. “I am a good lawyer, and I know the law is clear. Any child born during this marriage is mine – absolutely. That’s the law, and no judge can change it.”

That was when I made a decision. In hindsight, it was the only one I could make, but I would suffer from it. “There will be no divorce,” I told my daughter. “When your mother comes home tonight, she and I will work things out.”

Connie hugged me, and I led her to the kitchen, where we made dinner.

My wife returned later than expected. She arrived on the 24th, early in the morning. The kids were still in bed when she crept into the master bedroom. The first I knew she was there was when her body, still chilled from the cold December weather, slid into bed beside me.

“Come on, you’re cold,” I complained.

“Well, you need to warm me up,” she demanded.

“I’m still mad at you,” I protested.

“You’re still my husband, and I need you,” she cooed. “Besides, I’m not cold everywhere.”

With that, she took my left hand and placed it against her sex. She was hot there. My instincts took over, and I began rubbing my warm body against hers. Soon, I had my head between her legs, savoring her all-too-familiar taste and smell.

What followed was sex based on mutual lust, need, and love. There was no escaping it; I loved her and always would.

When it was over, we drifted back to sleep in each other’s arms.

Later on Christmas morning, with all the presents unwrapped but still placed around the tree, we finally confronted the issue between us. We went up to our bedroom. We undressed and climbed onto the bed, facing each other in a lotus position with our knees touching.

“So, you’ve decided not to divorce me,” Kate began tentatively.

It was halfway between a statement and a question. I didn’t answer, but gave her a questioning look.