The Other Girls

“He has to sign the papers.”

“He’s refused in the past.”

“Make him.”

“I can only do my best.”

“For fuck’s sake, the man’s bankrupt and according to the law he’s still your husband!”

Which to her indicated that Joffrey thought she hadn’t been trying hard enough.

At times like this, Belinda couldn’t decide who she disliked more – Joffrey or her husband.

Peter Joffrey was the financial adviser. He was bureaucratic and righteous. Sometimes he could be pushy. He was a short man with a shiny forehead. Very good at finances. In the fifteen years she had been his client, he had quadrupled her assets. Property, he said, the only way is up. Just as long as you don’t buy it at their prices. He meant the real estate agents.

But when it came to understanding other matters – like relationships – he was incredibly unsympathetic and insensitive. He just couldn’t – wouldn’t –understand how she felt about her husband and his illness.

I’m a sex addict, he confessed the first time she brought the papers for him to sign. He broke down and crumpled on the carpet. His tears drew her to him and she comforted him. She wanted so desperately to believe it would work out. But six weeks later he didn’t come home that night. She knew it was too soon to leave him on his own but it was only lunch with her brother. Her brother didn’t approve of Gerald, never had, and she only wanted to convince him that Gerald was different now, better. Gerald assured her he would be fine on his own.

She couldn’t stay with him after that. The fact was that he needed other women. He couldn’t live without them. She wasn’t enough for him. No matter how much he had tried to explain it to her. Oh, she tried to understand how it might be like for him but it wouldn’t stop irking her. It was an illness that he seemed to like too much; an illness that could only benefit him. What was she to do – just accept and put up with it? No, she could not be with a man like that.

There was something despicable about Joffrey too. He had never been married. He always said that it was because he was extremely selective with women but the truth was that no one wanted to put up with his ego and attitude. Belinda herself could only put up with him in small doses. Life was never good enough for Joffrey.

Lately, he had been really pushing her to get the divorce papers signed. She felt reluctant, and sometimes annoyed that he would make such a fuss over it. Most of her assets were in her name and the only assets that were shared was the house which Gerald was currently living in and an old bank account with only a few thousand left in the balance. But Joffrey was one of those people, the ones who although made high incomes, were tight about losing the benefit of even a dollar a week. Truth to tell, her husband’s bankrupt status made her feel a little sorry for him and Joffrey’s desire to gloat about it did not make her see her financial adviser in a very favourable light.

Joffrey insisted that the papers must be signed and he even offered to drive her there.

So they were driving along Castle Hill road, past the rapidly sprung up suburbs of a Sydney bursting at its seams. As they turned down Dural Road, the houses became more sparse until there were only farms and estates.

At the gate she asked Joffrey to be drive up to where the path curved towards the front door. She sat stiff and upright in the moving vehicle. She held her hands together in her lap, clasping something between the sweating palms. Her face was still and the only motion was the movement of her eyes as she took in as little as she could of the moving landscape from the car windows. But the gravel made the passage difficult. The tires spat out the white pebbles as the car drove carefully up the driveway.

The building itself, made of limestone and in the design of the old federation, was placed on eleven acres of horticultural opera. Five years ago she had fallen in love with the garden, from the hedge-lined driveway and avenues of Manchurian pears and Chinese poplar to the perfectly maintained lawns and parkland of oak, plane, poplar ash and elm. She felt a little sad that she had not enjoyed it as much as she would have liked over the years.

The car had reached the front door. She stepped out of the car.

“You don’t have to wait for me here Joff. There’s some really nice drives around here. I’ll call you once I’m finished.”

“It’s okay, I’ll wait for you,” Joffrey said. Belinda expected that; Joffrey was never adventurous and not as keen as most men when it came to cars or driving.

“I won’t be long,” she said.

“That’s okay, take your time. Just make sure you get them bloody papers signed.”

The square house stood before her, quaint and unimaginative. She still had the key.

It stuck to her left palm as she left the car. She was not sure whether to use it or just ring the doorbell. She wanted to provide him with a warning of her coming, in the case he forgot about her phone call made a week ago. Maybe he didn’t even care enough to be at home. A part of her suddenly wished for that. Then she heard a giggle; feminine and floating from one of the bedroom windows above. He was here. No, she wanted things finalized and over. The doorbell? No, she also did not want to feel like she was at his mercy, that she needed his permission to step into her own home. It surprised her that he chose to remain living here. Forty-five minutes from Sydney. She would have thought a bachelor’s apartment in the city be more appropriate for him.

She pressed the doorbell. Then she inserted the key and turned the lock.

She walked in and paused in the hallway. It was dark, the only light coming in at the small rectangular windows on each side of the door. A painting captured her eye – the Himalayan desert, stark and self-satisfied. They had purchased it from a Himalayan artist when they were there, six months before the marriage. Her heart felt like a fist, closing in. She silently cursed time, and the moving of it.

There was still no sign of him. She moved onwards, walked to the closed double doors of the lounge room. Suddenly she felt afraid. The hallway was dark and safe. She did not want to enter the room in front of her and see it bathed in light. The hallway was bare and detached – the only object of any distinction was the painting and that was hers. The lounge room, however, would be a room of feeling. The hallway was still her possession. The lounge room would be desecrated by the touch of other women. She wondered about the girl upstairs.

Nevertheless, she had to go in. She peeled open the lounge doors. Once he came down the stairs he would have to walk past and notice the doors were now open.

Daylight poured in through windows which opened up to the side of the house. The bookshelves lining the room looked starved and empty. She had taken her library when she left. Spilt red wine on the rug. The hard cherry leather sofa was gone, replaced by a cheap floral couch. She seated herself, surprised at how comfortable she felt in it. She felt betrayed. How many naked women had spread their legs for him on this couch with its comfortableness?

She heard him come down the stairs. He had always been heavy footed. She checked to see that the papers were in her handbag. They were. She stood up, ready. He strode into the lounge, legs first. He did not even check the front door. He had on a loose white shirt and linen pants. He had not shaved yet.

“Good morning Belinda.” His lips curved upwards but his eyes were tired.

“Good morning Gerald.” It was difficult for her to get the words out.

“Would you like a coffee?” he asked, “Or maybe tea?”

She shook her head and held out the papers to him. “I’m sorry to bother you Gerald. But I’ll leave you alone once you sign these papers.”

He did not reach for them. Instead he came closer to her, and stood just before her. They faced each other with their sides to the doorway, only centimeters apart. She was quite tall for a woman and needed only to look up at a slight angle. Her eyes drank in his face and fed it to her memory. She loved the way his forehead creased and the rough freckles strewed around a nose that contributed to a perfect profile. He was just so handsome.

“Are you sure about this Belinda? We could try again. Maybe we can make it work this time.”
He had always been the only one for her. She hated how he knew this. She hated the vulnerability and unfairness of it all. He was the only one for her but for him, she was never enough. She remembered the girl’s voice she heard earlier. She felt angry. He couldn’t even respect her enough to not bring his girls over to her house when he knew she was coming.

“No, I don’t want to go through that again. Please just sign it.”

“What about the house?” he asked quietly. The smile had left his face by now. He looked worried.

The poor guy, she thought, he’s probably got nothing left. The joint bank account was probably bled dry by now and then the house would be all that was left to him.

Remember the girls. The long strands of wet red hair by the swimming pool. His father’s birthday function when he disappeared at the same time as the gorgeous black-haired girl. What about the girl who was upstairs at this very moment and in the very same house.

She hardened herself before glaring at him, “If you can afford to buy it off me, Gerald.”

Gerald hesitated before speaking. “It’s always been about the money to you, hasn’t it?”

“H-how dare you!” Belinda spluttered, “How dare you accuse me-”

“So now I’m accusing you am I?” Gerald sharply interrupted and then his voice took on a taunting tone which she hated. “Well go on, tell me what the hell I’m accusing you of this time?”

“Of marrying … marrying you for your money. You know very well I earnt my money long before I met you.” Belinda was suddenly unsure. She hated the way he could easily unnerve her.

“I’m not stupid Belinda. I know it wasn’t for my money. Christ, you always treat me as if I’m so stupid.” The way he easily transformed her into the sudden villain.

“I don’t. I just wish you… that you… had the discipline... to… do what you really want.” The words wouldn’t come to her. What she wanted to say was that she knew he thought he was wasting his life but he was helpless against it because he allowed an external locus of control. She wanted to say that no matter how much help he sought from others it would be of no use unless he realized that he was the only person who could change his situation.

But he didn’t understand and she didn’t know how to make him understand. ”Well, you’re doing what you really want, aren’t you?” he shouted, “Christ, and you’re just so proud of it. That’s what I mean, money to you is your pride. What would-”

“I didn’t have your privileges. My family couldn’t afford-”

“There you go again! You’re so in love with this fairy tale of your life. Poor Cinderella’s now a rich ice princess!”

She said the next part very quietly. “My family couldn’t afford private schooling for me. I didn’t grow up in a mansion on Balmoral beach.” She could hear herself start to sound defensive.

“Christ, just let go! Why do you have to be so uptight all the time?”

“My social life didn’t evolve around the local tennis club,” she said heatedly, “That’s the kind of girl you want – a ladida heiress who can throw her money away.” Belinda was not sure that this was the kind of girl he wanted but this kind of girl was at the root of her own insecurities – the imagined arch nemesis that fed her jealousies. “She can afford not to care.”

It’s funny that she said that, right then and there. A girl stood in the doorway, and heaven knows for how long. There was a pause in the argument as both Belinda and Gerald realized they had been overheard.

The girl had chin-length brown hair and a thick fringe. She’s skinny, Belinda thought, and young. Possibly only in her early twenties. Belinda felt embarrassed. But the girl; Belinda could have sworn she looked merely amused.

The girl smirked. “That’s right,” she said. “I can afford not to care. I’m your regular spoilt brat. And you must be the wife.” She raised an eyebrow as she turned her chin slightly to look at Gerald.

“Gerry here had me believe you were his sister.”

The words were like a knife to Belinda. She was not even desirable enough anymore for her own husband to admit it. “Well I’m not his sister,” she said, “And once he signs the papers I no longer have to be his wife either.”

Gerald looked as if he were about to explode.

“I told you to stay upstairs!”

“I wanted some coffee.” She turned to Belinda. “Would you like me to make you some too?”

It was only ten in the morning, and suddenly Belinda felt very tired. The worst was over; she had seen the girl. She was resigned to it all and those papers had to be signed. “I might as well. White with one please.”

Gerald walked to where the girl stood and tried to speak in a lower tone. Belinda did not want to hear their conversation. The girl thought she was Gerald’s sister! It was no wonder that Gerald kept on seeking them and now she felt as if she were to blame for that too.

“I asked you to stay upstairs,” she could hear him saying, “I told you I wasn’t going to be long.”

“Really? So how come it’s taking you so long to sign her papers?” The girl didn’t bother to pipe down at all.

“Kat, please just go.” Gerald spread the words evenly and each one laced in venom.

“Should I tell her about-” the girl was suddenly roughly shaken. “Ow!”

Belinda did not want to be here. Why was Gerald so stupid to have his girls here when he knew she was coming?

“Do what I say. Go upstairs NOW!

She squealed. He chased her all the way up the stairs to the second floor.

Belinda stood there. The papers were still in her hand, unsigned. She would not go until they were. But she didn’t want to have to follow them upstairs. She didn’t have to. Moments later she heard Gerald pattering down the stairs.

“Bel, I’m so sorry,” he tried to apologize, “I’ll make you a coffee. Please – and I’ll try to be calm this time as we discuss it.”

She followed him into the kitchen. He pulled out a stool and motioned for her to sit down. He turned on the kettle. It was like she used to remember, back in the days when they were still together. They shared a few minutes of silence.

“How’s the coffee?” he asked, almost shyly.

“It’s good.”
“Bel, I’m bankrupt.” The words were like a confession, worse to him than his sexual offenses. Belinda understood; he was not telling her anything she didn’t already know, he was asking her something else.

“I know. Joffrey told me.”

“He made you come down here too didn’t he? The little shit,” For a brief moment, Gerald’s face twisted into a mask of anger and hate.

She was surprised at his expression. “Gerald!”

“Christ, it’s okay, I won’t get angry. But I’ve never liked him. You know, I kind of blame him. For us. For us … you know…being separated.”

She wanted to say “It’s no one’s fault but your own.” But she didn’t.

“Why do you blame him?” she asked, tired.

“He gave you such high expectations of me. That fairy tale life, it’s not real.”

She didn’t know what to say. His words sounded as if he were wording one of his excuses but there was another element there, cautioning her of the possibility of its truth. Yes, she did have the same romantic notions of married life as what she assumed the normal woman had, but realistically, how did he define what a ‘real life’ was? She hoped he did not mean for her to accept something like his promiscuity to be real. But she did not want to argue. It was past discussion and unlike all those past times, she had to turn her heart cold. Even if they could make out a life together with her accepting his situation and somehow gaining a little happiness from it, she had to prefer the distance, the detachment and the cold, cold loneliness.

It was the cold loneliness that numbed her against the hurt and pain. “Gerald, it doesn’t change anything. I’d still need that divorce.”

“I’m not expecting it to change anything. Here give me those papers.”

And he signed them.

“Christ, I’m going to miss this place though. It was the only thing I had left that reminds me of you,” He turned and looked at her with longing, or could she be imagining it? It didn’t matter.

“Well you can keep the painting of the Himalayas,” she said, dryly.

“I miss this house too," he said next. "Everytime I come back here, the memories… they flood over me. The happy ones … they hurt most of all.”

Belinda didn’t know what to say. And what about the memories of all those different girls? She thought. In that instant, her heart seemed to make up its mind. She would never be able to trust Gerald, most of all for his insincerity. She felt sorry for him, he was like an overgrown boy who never learned even to be honest to his own self.
“Would you like some more coffee?” he asked. Gerald felt afraid of her; he sensed a sudden change in her.

She shook her head. “What are you going to do?” A lone sliver of concern. It was out of habit, becoming almost motherly.

“What do you mean?” Gerald’s tone was hopeful but he knew; he felt the cold certainty of conclusiveness.

“How are you going to cope?” She did not really care, it was only verbal reassurance she was after and for once, he understood.

He smiled, that cheeky grin back and with it, a flood of memories in association. “Don’t worry, I will. It’s just life, catching up on me.”

The words felt odd on his lips. He was taking responsibility, forcibly perhaps, and it would be painful for someone as undisciplined as him. He felt a dread but laced with that dread, a fresh hope of redemption.

She nodded. “Well thanks for signing the papers.” And she felt a bit sad because of the finality of it all.

He walked her out the door.

She got in the car.

“How did it go?”

“He signed the papers.”

“Bloody well he did. I would have came in and kicked his head in if he refused this time. Was he difficult about it?”

“Joffrey, I don’t want to talk about it.”