His Wife Leaves Him полностью

He got a call. Late afternoon, January 10th, 1983, their first wedding anniversary. He was in their New York apartment with Rosalind. They were planning to go out for dinner that night with another couple in their building, who also got married on this day but a few years before them. Gwen’s mother was going to come over at six to babysit. He forgets what restaurant he made a reservation for — he wanted it to be the one Gwen and he had gone to on their first dinner date — but she didn’t think it good enough for a wedding anniversary and said that the other couple wouldn’t think it good enough either. He knows it was in the neighborhood so they could rush home in case her mother needed them. It was the first time they were going to leave Rosalind alone with anyone. The first time they actually did leave her was about a half year later with the college-age daughter of a French couple they’d become friends with in Baltimore. The caller identified himself — Tiffany’s, Security, last name was Duff — and asked if he was speaking to Martin Samuels. “Yes, why?” and the man said “And you’re the husband of, her driver’s license says, Gwendolyn Liederman, four-two-five Riverside Drive, New York City?” “That’s correct. What is it? Anything wrong? She okay?” “She’s all right. No injury happened to her. I’ll put her on the phone after I inform you she’s being detained in our security office here till a police van takes her downtown to be booked for the charge of shoplifting. Tiffany’s—” and he said “Are you kidding me?” “Tiffany’s, I’ll have you know, prosecutes all shoplifters no matter how small the intended theft.” “But this is absolutely crazy. You’ve arrested the most honest person alive. Shoplifting? For what?” and the man said “If you mean the item, a handbag, or shoulder bag. A small leather bag hanging on her shoulder by a strap, which we caught her leaving the store with in her possession without having paid for it.” “But you’ve made a mistake. She was probably trying it on, seeing how it looked, decided against it, and absentmindedly left the store with it still on her shoulder. Look, whatever the damn thing’s worth, I’ll pay for it over the phone with my credit card, not because she might want the bag but to get her out of this jam.” “I can’t do that. Maybe you didn’t hear me, sir. Tiffany’s prosecutes all shoplifters, and your wife left the store with a stolen item in her possession,” and he said “And I explained to you. She’d never in a million years take something that wasn’t hers. Come on, let her go. She’s got a four-month-old baby at home. The kid’s got to be fed. That means mother’s milk. And today’s our first wedding anniversary. One year. I know it’s ridiculous, but it’s so. We were going to go out to celebrate tonight. Her mother’s on her way over here now to babysit for us.” “Your wife should have thought of all that before. But nothing you say, sir, will change the situation for her. The police van’s already been called.” “Then call it off,” and the man said “I’m sorry, Mr. Samuels. I can’t do that either.” “Please put my wife on,” and the man said “You’ve got one minute,” and to Gwen: “Make it quick, Mrs. Samuels.” Gwen got on. “I’m so sorry, my darling, I must have thought I put that bag back. But I suddenly realized how late it was and that I had to get home to feed Rosalind, so I just ran out of the store. If this takes long, you know where my expressed milk is in the refrigerator. If you run out of that or she’ll only drink a little of it, use the formula, but make sure she’s not flat on her back while she drinks it. How is she?” and he said “Chattery, playful, not interested in being put down for a nap.” “It was such a dumb mistake on my part. I heard you trying to convince Mr. Duff to let me go, but it seems an exercise in futility. Against company policy. That old fall-back-on. Call off dinner with the Skolnicks. Don’t tell them why yet. Just say we think Rosalind’s coming down with something and we’ll do it another time. And call my mother and tell her not to come and to stay by the phone in case I need her. She might have to bail me out with cash. Mr. Duff wants me to end the call. Some paperwork still to do for the paddy wagon. That’s what it is. Imagine, me in one. But we’ll get a lawyer and it’ll all eventually be straightened out.” “I should get the phone number where you are and address and phone number of the police station you’re going to,” and she said “I’ll give you Mr. Duff for that. Am I ready for this? I better be. But don’t worry about me. I’m in relatively good spirits, and Mr. Duff and his associates have been very courteous. He even offered to get me a sandwich and soda from the Tiffany commissary if I got hungry. Bye-bye, sweetheart. Kiss Rosalind for me,” and she gave Duff the phone. She got back around four in the morning. He had dozed off on the couch — Rosalind was in her crib in the bedroom — and jumped up when he heard a key being inserted in the lock and opened the door for her. “Oh, so good to have you home,” and hugged her. “My mother says to say hello,” and he said “Thanks. Are you hungry?” and she said “I’m sleepy.” “So show me your new shoulder bag,” and she said “You don’t mind if I don’t laugh?” and she laughed. “How’s it been with Rosalind?” and he said “Great. We had lots of fun. So tell me, how was it?” and she said “Let me wash up first. The toilet facilities there were filthy and communal, with no privacy or soap. I had to pee in front of a dozen women. For bowel movements they led you to a tiny W.C., where they left you alone but they had to flush it.” “Probably so you wouldn’t just use it to pee in privacy,” and she said “No, that makes no sense. They’d know that lots of times, when you think you need to defecate, nothing comes out,” and he said “Then I don’t know.” She undressed, put all her clothes into the laundry hamper and went into the bathroom. He followed her. “Please let me pee in peace?” and he left the room and shut the door. She showered, water-picked, no doubt flossed and brushed her teeth, and came out in her bathrobe and said “I should have a large glass of water.” He said “I’ll get it,” and she said “No, I’m fine. They didn’t torture me there. They had a water cooler, but no cups, and I was reluctant to drink from it. Miss Priss. Who knew?” She was the first one picked up by the police wagon and had a nice chat with the officer in back. “He said he was a big reader too, particularly Moby-Dick multiple times and everything about Melville and it. I had to confess I never could get past the part just before they first board the ship. I asked him if the wagon ever got unruly — that I was a little afraid. He said ‘In all my times doing this, never a rumble or even a hint of back talk. Maybe they think I’ve some influence at the station, so they stay on their best behavior. Be very careful, though, once you’re in lock up. Don’t go to sleep or show your wallet.’“ They gradually picked up more people: prostitutes, male and female, a three-card monte dealer and a man who peed in front of a movie theater. “‘I had to go,’ he said. ‘New York ought to have more public toilets, especially in crowded Midtown. What did they expect me to do, buy a movie ticket just to piss?’ A few of them in the back knew each other from previous rides, and this guy was a repeater.” She was fingerprinted, more paperwork, put in a holding cell with the women from her van and others who were already there. “Most of them said to me ‘What are you doing here, honey? You look like you belong in a church or leading a choir.’ One of the prostitutes said she could help me make good money on the street, if I ever wanted to give up teaching or use it as a sideline or cover. That I’ve the right face and body and hair for it. ‘What do you do to get it that color?’ a couple of the women asked. When I told them it was real and that my being arrested was a mistake, you can guess the reaction I got. Lots of eye-rolling and ‘Sure, baby’s.’ I’ve never been in a situation before where absolutely nobody believed me. They did say I did one smart thing for myself and that was to bring a big book with me to read, because it was going to be a long night for me. ‘We’ll be out of here in a few hours,’ one prostitute said. ‘You, because your crime’s not victimless, could see two to three days.’ The woman said she was once a lawyer, and that’s when I didn’t believe her. But I’m very tired. I’ll tell you more tomorrow. I have a bunch of quotes and detailed notes written on the title and dedication and copyright pages of the book I never got to read.” When they were turning the couch into a bed, he said “Okay, the truth now—” and she said “I know what you’re about to say, and I swear, it was an accident. I’m surprised at you for having even a shred of doubt.” “I didn’t at first,” he said. “But then I thought, with the bag hanging off your shoulder and you by the door, that you might have done it for the excitement for the first time in your life of getting away with something like that. Then, when you were home, you’d send the store the money and also the sales tax for it, anonymously and in cash, of course, and maybe ten extra bucks just to play it safe.” She said “It was an attractive bag but too expensive and really too small for what I wanted it for. But I’ve never stolen anything in my life and never will. You know me. If a waitress doesn’t list some item that should have been on my check or a store clerk makes a mistake on the bill in my favor, I always correct them. It was something my parents drilled into me and I’ve always believed. You know, though, it’ll cost us to get the charges dropped, and if they’re not, then expunged. My father already consulted with two lawyer friends, but told them the information was for a tax client of his. As an experience, I’d say it was almost worth what I went through. It was exciting. The paddy wagon and petty criminals I was thrown in with in it and then the holding cell, a world I was aware existed but had never come near to experiencing. Have you ever been in a holding cell?” and he said “If I had, you wouldn’t have heard about it by now? I did once see one when I went to the 20th Precinct on 83rd or 84th Street, years before I met you, to report my license plates had been stolen. There it was, for everyone to see, very small, though, maybe big enough for three men to stand in — nothing the size you say yours was — with one skinny hysterical man inside shouting ‘Let me out,’ and the policeman recording my license plate theft saying ‘Shut up!’” “Well, I met some interesting people, none of them hysterical, some of them quite articulate and bright and all of them very nice. One even brushed my hair.”