Ernie had spent the week in Detroit on a business trip and I was meeting him at The Marriott in Tarrytown. As if we were lovers. As if this were a rendezvous.
Even though we had been married seventeen years, I felt the excitement, the anticipation, as I waited in the lobby. We had never really been apart, except for the two times I’d been in the hospital giving birth to our two sons. We would have a drink in the hotel bar before we headed home. He would tell me about his week, his trip.
I had dressed carefully for this ‘date.’ I wore a mauve faux suede maxi coat, my knee peeking out between the shorter skirt and brown suede boots. My long brown hair flowed to mid-back from under a rust-colored knitted cloche hat, with a knitted flower on the side. I felt good, and I knew that Ernie would appreciate how I looked.
Finally, the airport bus arrived and he got off with a few of his colleagues, his briefcase in hand. Looking at him with his co-workers, I imagined not knowing him and meeting for the first time tonight. Not as the young boy I had grown up with, who gave me my first kiss, the guy I married at eighteen, but as the cute guy getting off the bus tonight. I looked at him with his thick dark hair, angular features, slim build and broad shoulders and wondered how a woman who met him without knowing that boy I knew would see him, what she would think of him. It made me think of him just a little differently.
Ernie came into the hotel lobby and looked at me, and I saw his deep brown eyes light up. He gave me a quick embrace and introduced me to some of the guys I didn’t know. After they left to go home, we walked down a well-lit carpeted corridor to the bar area. We could hear the noise of the bar as we approached: music, laughter, but most of all noisy conversation. Our eyes had to adjust to the dim lights. People were lingering around the bar, vying for drinks and attention, but along the periphery of the bar were two deep purple lounge chairs with a small table between them. They were empty. We looked at each other, nodded knowingly, and headed straight for them.
We ordered drinks and settled in. In the background, “Taking Care of Business” played, “Taking care of business…every day. Taking care of business…every way. Taking care of business…working overtime,” Ernie sang and squeezed me a little closer. I tingled.
After several minutes’ conversation, I looked up and recognized our old friend Johnny sidled up to the bar, one foot up on the foot rail, elbow leaning against the bar. I was just about to raise my hand and wave when I noticed that his only-Johnny half-crooked smile was directed at a beautiful blonde next to him. In disbelief I watched as they laughed, then nuzzled up to one another.
You see Johnny and Marie, high-school sweethearts like Ernie and I, had been married the year before us and had always seemed perfect together. And that was not Marie. These thoughts passed rapidly through my mind as I continued to gaze, wondering what to do. Just then Johnny looked up, met my gaze, but like a stranger or an actor pretending to be a stranger, showed no sign of recognition. He looked away. I looked away.
I whispered to Ernie, “Johnny’s over there with some woman. Let’s get out of here.” We quickly finished our drinks and asked for the bill.
On the way home in our old blue VW bug, we talked about what had happened. To tell or not to tell Marie. I think we decided not to, but it was lost in the pent-up passion that crackled between Ernie and me. When “Night Moves” started to play on the radio, we forgot about Johnny and Marie and “started humming a song from 1962”–the year we were married. “Workin’ on our night moves…we’d steal away every chance we could.” We pulled off 9W into a parking lot overlooking the Hudson. It was one of those turn-offs frequented by those much younger than we were, but we knew the kids and the babysitter were waiting at home. We caught up just a little on our night moves.
by Lynn DiGiacomo
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