Chapter 1: A Declaration of Intent: Howard

My name is Howard Wilson Carver. I am a senior accountant at Taft, Collridge and Woolwich, a long-established Boston accounting firm. I am fifty years old and I have risen about as far as I can in this firm. I specialize in business tax management and I am considered the in-house expert on the subject. I earn $85,000 per year, plus benefits. I am very fit for my age since I exercise regularly and maintain a common-sense dietary regimen. Oh yes, I am also the firm's only black in middle management.

I know it's more fashionable to say African-American, but the fact is, I'm black, negro, colored, non-white, etc., etc. What makes me somewhat different is the fact that I'm married to a white woman. Edith Delaney Carver and I have been married some twenty-six years this May. I am uncertain if we will see twenty-seven, however.

Edith is what usually is called an impresario. She arranges and books plays and concerts for major venues in the Boston area. She is very successful and has been for a number of years. She is forty-eight years old and is also very fit and trim. In fact, she is one of the most attractive women on the Boston social scene. She is very camera-friendly, her picture appearing often in the society and entertainment pages of our local newspapers.

Edith and I discovered early on in our marriage that we could not have children. I was fine, but Edith apparently had a disorder that prevented impregnation. She took the news with stoicism, whereas I was quite upset. I wanted children and Edie said she did as well. We talked about adoption, but for one reason or another, the timing was never quite right. As the years passed, it was less and less on our minds.

When we were first married, I was the sole breadwinner. My modest salary provided us a small apartment in Needham. We struggled at the beginning, but in time my promotions and salary increases took the immediate pressure off, and we began to think toward our future.

When we learned that we would be unable to have a family, Edith, or Edie as I had come to call her, decided to find work. I couldn't blame her. Sitting at home all day doing housework and waiting for me seemed a pointless exercise for someone as bright as she. I encouraged her to find something she would enjoy, since we would not be dependent on her salary.

As luck would have it, she found work with a booking agency. The agency provided musicians, comedians, actors, dancers or whatever skill was required to clubs, advertising agencies, theatres, television studios and radio stations. It was a modest business, but Edie took to it like a duck to water. Within two years, she increased the bookings by a third and the innocuous little agency was suddenly becoming a factor in the Boston entertainment market.

Naturally her employer, Aser Hirschfeld, was delighted with her performance. She was not only increasing their business, she was also working her way into the inner sanctum of the publicity world. She was highly visible, and as a consequence was noticed by both performers and potential clients.

By the time she was thirty-five, Edie was an established personality on the local entertainment scene. At that point, she had overtaken my income.

It was also at that moment where the relationship in our marriage changed between us. Edie had gained enormous self-confidence and had become the dominant person in our union. It was she who decided whom we would entertain. It was she who chose the restaurants where we would be seen, and it was she who decided we needed a more fashionable residence.

Nothing less than a Back Bay address would do. It would stretch our finances to the limit, but Edie was insistent. Fortunately, her income kept rising with her success, and in the end we could manage the payments for the spacious, renovated townhouse she chose.

I know it sounds like I had turned into a milquetoast, a man who simply let his wife control his life. But it happened so gradually, that I wasn't really aware of it for some time. By the time I recognized my role in our marriage, it was established and seemingly immoveable.

They say success breeds success, and in Edie's case that was definitely true. She stayed with Aser's firm just long enough to establish her own clientele and then, with no discussion with anyone, set off on her own. It was handed to me just as it was handed to Aser, a fait accompli. At age thirty-seven she established her own agency and stole almost every valuable client she had captured for Aser Hirschfeld.

I could hardly complain, I suppose. By now Edie's income was far surpassing mine and most of what we had in possessions and capital came from her earnings. I was a lesser light. Oh, we were still close. Our personal relationship was still fine. We made love regularly and she enjoyed the comfort of my presence when we were alone. It was that very comfort that masked what was happening to us.

Was I happy? For the most part, yes. Edie was in her element, and her success was shared with me. I went to work each day with little to worry about. I knew my job inside and out. In fact, I was becoming bored, and I didn't see any change on the horizon. I would continue along my well-trodden path and remain at TC&W. I could never accuse my employer of being the cause of stress in my life.

As Edie continued to soar, I noticed that I saw less of her. She was forever attending some opening, charity function, or gala event. I was invited quite often, but discovered that it was really Edie being polite. She and I both knew that her world was an alien environment for me. I would accompany her when a partner was required, but more often than not she was off, flitting about making contact, pressing the flesh, and getting her picture taken with one celebrity or another. I was a fifth wheel.

As we entered our forties, Edie continued to grow on the Boston social scene. Her business had momentum and her income was quite astounding. I remember when we met with our tax accountant three years ago, that she was declaring over a half-million dollars in earnings. I nearly fell off my chair when I heard that. I had no idea. Edie seemed quite nonplussed as well. I don't think she really knew how much money she was making. Almost all of it was going into a money-market account at Fanny Mae. The rest was in her personal account.

I think that meeting had a greater effect on us than I realized. Our marriage had evolved into something more hybrid than the conventional union. We made love, or at least had sex, once or twice a week. We were happy in each other's company when we were alone. But when we were in public, Edie seemed to prefer some distance between us. Was she embarrassed with me? Was it because she was the dominant, successful partner and I was the modestly successful accountant? Or was it because I was black, and she was white?

I'm not paranoid by nature, but as I saw how she reacted when we were out in public at social gatherings, I began to wonder. And there was something else, as well. Our only friends were my friends. I learned early on not to include them in parties in our home when Edie was inviting her "friends." Mine would be ignored and I would end up being uncomfortable for them. I mentioned it to Edie more than once, but she dismissed my concerns as imaginary.

So that brings us to today, my lovely, successful, svelte, vibrant wife and me, with our unusual, but seemingly workable marriage. I won't embarrass myself by describing myself as handsome, but I am not ugly. I possess a full head of graying hair, weigh only a few pounds more than I did in my twenties, and thanks to Edie's generosity I am exceedingly well dressed. Our sex life is still active and we profess love for each other regularly. I had no reason to be discomforted ... until.

"Howard, I want to talk to you," Edie said as we finished putting the dinner dishes in the dishwasher.