Read How to Save Your Own Life for Free Online Page B

utterance of that simple monosyllable. And the pain is not undone by his continuing, “But I haven’t seen her for three years at least.”
    â€œYou seem to know a lot about her kids ...” My heart is galloping now: a wounded runaway horse.
    â€œ I spoke to her while you were in Chicago.”
    â€œOh.” I am overcome; I stare hard at him, obviously getting pleasure from his own revelation. Seven years ago! Three years ago! This is ridiculous. Ancient history. Why should it come between us now?
    â€œDid you love her? Whenever you mention her name, I feel you still love her ...”
    Bennett hedges: “What’s love?”
    â€œWhen you speak of someone’s kids in that tone of voice.” I am choking on my words. My salad sits on my plate dying in its vinegar. “You never speak of me in that tone of voice.”
    Bennett shrugs.
    â€œYou loved her, didn’t you?” I hate the sound of my voice, saying this. So plaintive, so betrayed.
    â€œWhy does that matter?”
    â€œThat means the answer is yes.”
    He shrugs again.
    â€œOh come on, Bennett, tell me. It’s worse if you hedge like that. At least you loved someone if you didn’t love me.... At least you loved ...”
    â€œDon’t raise your voice like that. People know who you are...”
    â€œAnd why not?” I scream. “I don’t care who knows. I really don’t.”
    â€œShut up,” Bennett says, his voice a steel trap.
    Â 
    Later, in the car going back to New York (what point is there staying in Woodstock when the purpose for our trip has already been fulfilled?), I interrogate him about Penny, that cold copper bitch. I hear myself sounding just like a betrayed wife in a novel-and I hate it. But I’m unable to stop. Some demon speaks through my mouth while my body looks on, amazed, ashamed.
    â€œHow often did you see her?”
    â€œI don’t remember.”
    â€œHow can you not remember?”
    â€œI just can’t.”
    I think of my two part-time lovers (both of them named Jeffrey) who seem totally irrelevant to my life, but still I can remember everything. Every meeting, every meal, every mouthful.
    Â 
    â€œWas she good in bed?”
    â€œI refuse to go into detail.”
    â€œWas she?”
    Bennett hesitates. He has unleashed something he cannot now control. He wants to take it all back. Salvage begins.
    â€œI don’t think she ever came. She moaned and writhed a lot, but I think she was inorgastic.”
    Inorgastic. I recognize the voice of Dr. Herschel W. Steingesser prompting from behind the couch.
    â€œHow did you know?”
    â€œI never knew for sure.”
    â€œDidn’t you care?”
    â€œLook, Isadora, not all women are like you. Some of them get a lot out of sex without coming. They like being held, stroked, fondled.”
    Snidely: “Tell me about all those other women.”
    â€œThere weren’t any others.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œIt’s true. There was just Penny. I felt I was dying and she saved my life. It was mostly that I needed someone to talk to. I couldn’t talk to you in those days.”
    â€œSaved your life? That’s pretty strong stuff. We’d only been married a year. Why didn’t you leave me if you felt so trapped? I was miserable too. It might have been a blessing.”
    â€œBecause I was conflicted. I knew you were warm and cuddly. That you came and she didn‘t, that my need for her was probably all my unresolved oedipal problem ...”
    â€œThat word again.”
    Bennett bristles: “Look—do you want to hear or don’t you?”
    â€œI do. I do.”
    â€œShe had six children—like my mother-and a husband she hated. I saw her as a damsel in distress—the mother I could save ...”
    â€œI thought she saved you.”
    â€œIt was mutual.”
    â€œIt sounds great. It sounds like you should have gotten