Jutta Alone

I’d missed Jutta more than I thought I would, though a few afternoons a week in a motel room doesn’t necessarily make for a strong relationship. We talked a lot about our lives, about her children, whom she adored, about everything, I guess.

She telephoned late one morning. Calling me at home was the last thing she would have done. "Is something the matter?" I asked.

"Alan died last night."

"How?"

"We came home from a dinner party about ten. He got into bed. While I was brushing my teeth, I said something to him and he didn’t answer. I walked into the bedroom, and he’d just stopped breathing."

We spoke for another few minutes and I told her that as soon as I could drive, I’d telephone her.

I began seeing Jutta as soon as I could drive, but now we didn’t have to sneak in and out of motels. I’d go to her home in Brentwood where we’d make love and have lunch, then make love again until her children arrived home from school.

From the moment I was introduced to them I was crazy about her kids. Bobby, the younger one, was in pre-school. Steven was nine and all boy. Jutta had done a wonderful job of raising them and I could see how much their late father had missed by not spending more time with them.

I’d been seriously thinking about leaving home and putting an end to the farce. Aria had to know there was someone else. She may have been controlling, but she wasn’t stupid. As long as the status remained quo, and she had all the luxuries she’d always wanted, what did it matter? That’s the tacit message I got. Things had deteriorated to a point that we hardly spoke to each other. We were just hanging in, each for a different reason, and I’d run out of reasons.