Page 90 of The New Couple in 5B

He’s shifted out of his uniform and is dressed in crisp black slacks and a silk shirt, stylish loafers. He slips inside the apartment, shutting the door, and I let him take me in his arms, press his hot lips to my neck. I am helpless in the heat of his desire, in mine. I let him take me, right there in the foyer, knocking shamelessly against the wall.

Afterward, I pour him a glass of wine.

When will you leave him?he asks me.We can’t go on like this forever.

He leans against the windowsill, looks out at the view.

Never, I think but don’t say. Paul is my husband, and I will stay with him. I will move to the country and be a good wife. I thought he’d accepted this. Apparently not.

I don’t know, I say.Let’s not think about it tonight.

He frowns but then concedes with a nod. Neither of us is much for serious talk. We are about the city night and all its pleasures.

Slipping out the back door, we kiss, waiting for the service elevator.

That’s when I see him.

That little monster, hiding behind the corner, watching us. I let out a little shriek and he turns and runs. I chase after him, but he’s gone behind his apartment door, and I hear the latch turn.

I lean in close to the door and know he’s right behind it.You keep your mouth shut, you little brat. Or you know what.

I hear little footsteps running away. He pulls me away from the door.

“He’s just a child,” he says easily. “No one will believe him.”

“You said they were out.”

“Charles and Ella,” he clarifies. “The children are with a sitter.”

“He saw us,” I say.

“I’ll handle it.”

But the night is ruined. I ruminate at the jazz club. There’s not enough gin to take away the image of that brat’s mischievous little grin. He’ll tell. He probably already has. I beg off early and though he’s disappointed he escorts me home, ever the gentleman. I think he knows that it’s over, by the sad way he looks at me when I let myself in the back door.

I must find a way to fix this, I think but don’t say. I must dedicate myself to being a better wife. I just hope it’s not too late.

But it seems he sees it on my face.

“I’ll handle the boy,” he tells me as I step inside. “I promise.”

Upstairs, alone, I cry myself to sleep—saying goodbye to him, to the girl I hoped I would be, the young dancer living a glamourous life in Manhattan. The windows are open, and the city noise wafts up from below. I let it lull me into an uneasy sleep.

I dream of a terrible argument between Paul and me. He calls me a whore and slaps my face. I fall to my knees begging him to forgive me. In the dream, I’m wailing in despair. I wake with a start, weak with relief that it wasn’t real. The morning sun streams in the windows.

But then, there’s a horrible keening wail and I wonder if I’m trapped—a dream within a dream.

But no, another shriek scatters the rest of my sleep and has me terrified on my feet, then running toward the door. I fumble with the locks, finally opening the front apartment door.

Ella is on her knees in our shared foyer, wailing in horror and misery. I try to understand the scene before me.

The elevator doors are open, but there’s just a gaping black maw. The car is not there.

Ella, Ella, what’s happened?

She turns and looks at me, her face a mask of horror and pain.He fell, she moans.Miles fell down the elevator shaft. He’s gone.

twenty-seven