Story of a Sociopath

  —

  But I didn’t, and once again I got off scot-free.

  The autopsy was inconclusive. It was impossible to know whether Constance Morgan had broken her neck due to an accidental fall or if someone had pushed her. But who could have done that? It had just been the family at home. Ellen was in her room; her mother was reading her a story while Mr. Morgan watched television in his room. The girl told the police that her mother had gone to get her a glass of milk.

  The official version of events was that Constance Morgan had tripped and fallen down the stairs, breaking her neck. The newspapers went on to photograph the heartbroken congressman and his daughter. They were described as the perfect American family, the picture of love.

  We went to the funeral. We had to. Ralph avoided my gaze when I offered my condolences.

  Nicholas Carter remained by his side at all times. Whenever he noticed Ralph breaking down he would wrap his arm around his shoulders in a protective gesture. I couldn’t get the thought that Ralph had pushed her out of my mind. That it had been the second time he had pushed her. The first was when I was leaving their house and I’d been able to keep her from falling, but the second time, there hadn’t been anyone there to catch her.

  Ellen said she’d heard her mother scream and that she’d jumped out of bed and run to the stairs. She’d found her father at the top of the stairs, and he’d picked her up in his arms. They’d gone down to the bottom step, and there was her mother, lying very still.

  Constance’s parents were overwhelmed by the loss of their only daughter and also by the fact that the young man she had met in college was now a prominent congressman, and therefore the burial was attended by high-ranking politicians they’d seen on television. As for Ralph’s parents, despite their grief, they couldn’t hide how proud they were of their son for becoming such an important person.

  I couldn’t feel anything. Neither sorrow nor dread; I didn’t even feel liberated by Constance’s death. My only worry was what might happen with Esther. Since the night Constance died, Esther seemed distant, although she hadn’t left me alone for an instant, always staying alert for anything that might implicate me. She was protective, the way she had been from the day we met, but I understood once again that something between us had broken. What I didn’t know was the significance of the situation.

  For three or four days I didn’t dare to ask her anything, until Friday night, when we were both at home, each of us on a sofa, reading. I had suggested we go out to dinner but she said she was too tired. Tuesday had been Constance’s funeral and what had happened weighed heavily on us.

  The moment I lifted my gaze from my book, our eyes met. She had been watching me for a while.

  I smiled at her. I couldn’t think of anything else to do to clear the heavy silence.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked her.

  “I’m thinking there are too many girls who die around you…Too many. First it was Lisa, poor stupid Lisa. Then that Japanese girl, Yoko? I think you said her name was Yoko…And now Constance Morgan. You attract death, Thomas. I hope I won’t be the next one.”

  For a few seconds I froze. I knew it was only a matter of time before she decided to leave me. I shuffled over to where she was sitting, and slumped down onto the floor, hugging her legs. She started to caress my head but she did so mechanically. She wasn’t there.

  —

  Olivia was upset about Constance’s death. I couldn’t understand why, as she barely knew her, but when I went to see her at her apartment a few days later, she burst into tears.

  “Poor woman! What did you do to her, Thomas?” she asked, as if she had no doubt that I was to blame for Constance’s death.

  I was furious. I wasn’t in the mood to put up with tears or accusations, and I threatened to leave her forever.

  “I don’t have time for silliness. Everything the papers said about Constance’s death is true. It was an accident, a tragic accident.”

  “You’re a strange guy, Thomas. One day I looked up information about you and apparently years ago your first girlfriend died under strange circumstances…And then that girl…the London prostitute you told me about…You said she was in a car accident. You attract death, Thomas. Women aren’t safe around you.”

  I was startled to hear Olivia say the same thing that Esther had said. I was tempted to hit her, but I didn’t.

  After Constance’s death, I made a decision that I have stuck to till this day. I promised myself not to initiate a stable relationship with any more women. I would only pay for the services of prostitutes. One night and no more. No matter how much I might like one in particular. I had grown attached to Olivia, more than I had anticipated.

  I threw myself back into a routine. Weekdays at the agency, weekends with Esther with outings to the theater or some concert, even the usual monthly dinner with her parents and brother at the family restaurant. I found those encounters boring, but if I had tried to make any excuse not to go, my marriage would not have lasted this long. Esther had a strong sense of belonging with her family; she was connected to them in a way she would never be with me. If she had to choose, she wouldn’t hesitate.

  Sundays were spent at home, reading or working, each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts, barely speaking but aware of each other’s presence.

  No, I didn’t want the life I had built for myself to go up in smoke. I’d say that living this way was the closest thing to happiness that I’ve ever experienced. I became calmer and more settled. I never wanted anything else.

  DECLINE

  9

  Years went by without us noticing. Esther devoted her efforts and talent to Global Communication. I was all right. From time to time we traveled to London, where the agency functioned reasonably well. We would meet with some important new client. We would have supper with Evelyn and Roy, who had consolidated his political career. The Rural Party even won three seats in Parliament. Cooper and Maggie did fine without us. Esther found it difficult to leave the Big Apple. We earned more money than we could spend.

  But, suddenly, the world we’d known—the world in which we were in our element—changed very rapidly. Our business was hit the hardest.

  The crisis affected us more than we could have anticipated. Suddenly, our clients started to consider advertising something they could do without, or at the very least pay less for than they had been paying until then. Our income dwindled, although we had enough money to cope with the blow. We had invested wisely. Even so, Esther subjected us to wartime rations. She imposed drastic cuts in spending at the agency. She would not allow us to spend one dollar that wasn’t strictly necessary. I proposed that we do what everyone else was doing: fire part of the staff. They could still work for us but as self-employed contractors; that way, they wouldn’t be such a burden to the company. Esther wouldn’t allow it.

  “That’s immoral, Thomas, we’re not bankrupt.”

  “But the company isn’t doing well.”

  “We have money.”

  “Yes, our money, which we have earned. Don’t mix up the company with us, Esther.”

  But to her they were one and the same. This was part of her Catholic morality. So, reluctantly, I had to accept her austerity plan, not only for the agency but in our personal life. Esther thought it indecent to spend money on self-indulgences when many of our friends had gone bankrupt.

  The agency’s London branch was also doing poorly, even worse than the New York office. We couldn’t keep it going with only a dozen clients who paid late and never enough. Roy had decided to take advantage of the circumstances to reduce his contribution. In all truth, he no longer needed us—he could make do with Evelyn.

  I tried to convince Esther to at least close the agency’s London office, but she refused to consider it, although she was willing to impose some budget restrictions that made it nearly impossible to survive.

  —

  There are years that go by quicker than others. For some, the years of the crisis b
ecame interminable. For me, they were tedious—the most tedious of my life—and that’s considering I had enough reasons to feel fulfilled. We managed to ride out the crisis without huge losses, and gradually began to win back our clients from previous years, who were starting to spend money again on advertising and publicity.

  Lately, when I look in the mirror, I find it hard to recognize the man I see there. My hair is turning white. My skin has become more sallow. I have love handles and my arms are flabby due to lack of exercise. But my bed is still visited by beautiful women whom I pay generously.

  Through Paul, I got a hold of a phone number you can call to have young ladies sent to you for three hundred dollars an hour. Payment is cash in hand. You don’t have to give your name and nobody asks for it. The girls always seem to be in good spirits. For a long time, I’ve been infatuated with a young girl who, like Olivia used to, dreams of making it big in New York. In fact, more than a few like her have visited my bed. The sweet angels believe that the shortest path to success is to sleep with men like me, who can pull strings for them in advertising, film, or theater. A few have actually managed to get something out of the situation. Of course these chance encounters didn’t interfere with my relationship with Olivia. I felt at ease with her, and, in addition, she indulged my gluttony. She was becoming a better and better cook.

  One day, Paul took us by surprise and announced that he wanted to retire.

  “I’ll be seventy soon. I’ve taught you everything I know and now it’s my turn to rest. Thanks to Esther I’ll have a nice retirement. I want to spend the rest of my days playing golf in Miami.”

  “But you don’t know anyone in Miami to play golf with,” I replied, fearing he might actually leave.

  “But I’ll meet them. There are plenty of people like me who want to enjoy their last years in a place where they’re not constantly shivering from cold. I’ll join some country club. You can come and visit when you have time.”

  Seventy. Yes, Paul was going to be seventy years old, but I didn’t see him as a useless old man. Esther reminded me that over the years Paul had spent less and less time at the agency. It’s not that Paul’s presence was unnecessary. The agency functioned fine on its own or, rather, thanks to Esther’s talent and hard work, but Paul always had a piece of advice, a valuable opinion to give. It was true, he had taught us everything he knew, and most importantly, he had given us the keys to success in the advertising world. The Big Apple is a jungle where only a few manage to triumph; the rest have to make do with crumbs.

  “We’re going to miss him a lot. It was reassuring to know I could always ask him how to solve a problem,” Esther confessed on the day Paul was leaving.

  “I’m sad too. But apparently playing golf makes him happy, and from what he said, it sounds like he found a beautiful apartment in Coral Gables.”

  “But he’s alone. At the party he organized there won’t be anyone who isn’t from the office or friends from other agencies. He doesn’t have a family, or parents, or siblings, or a wife, or children. He’ll die alone at some hospital.”

  I thought about myself. I was like Paul, except I had Esther, but would she always be with me? She had a big family—parents, a brother, nieces and nephews, cousins—but what about me? I hadn’t heard anything from Jaime in years. Nor had I taken any interest in my maternal grandparents before they died or in my uncle Oswaldo, whom I knew was slowly dying in a nursing home. I removed them from my life, putting them out of my mind. As if they had never belonged to my world and my relationship with them were part of another life.

  Uncle Oswaldo had tried to get in touch with me a few times. But I didn’t return those calls and my secretary had been briefed to tell him I was out of town. How many years had gone by since I’d last seen him? I think it was at John’s funeral.

  Paul had organized a party at a bar in SoHo, a kind of garage decorated with paintings by artists who hadn’t yet succeeded. He had invited a few important people from the advertising scene and all the hangers-on that move around it. Especially models. He even insisted on inviting Olivia.

  “You’re lucky to have two good women for yourself. Others get the scraps,” he said, laughing.

  “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to invite Olivia. I think Esther suspects that there’s always been something between us.”

  “She doesn’t suspect, she’s sure of it, but she won’t tell you. It’s one of her secret weapons, which she will use against you when the time comes,” he assured me with such conviction that I believed him.

  So Olivia came to the party. Esther didn’t react to her presence. It’s not that it was strange that she was there—after all, Olivia was a model and had worked on a few of our campaigns. That was the kind of favor Paul always did for me.

  Esther was glum because Paul was leaving. She was going to miss him. So was I.

  Paul is a survivor. He never deceived anyone. You knew what to expect from him. I think his only weakness had been Esther.

  That night at the party he confessed that he had always been secretly in love with Esther.

  “If I had had anything to offer when she started giving classes at my school, I assure you I would have stolen her from you. But I always knew she was out of my league. What I’ve never understood is why she loved you. But that’s what women are like.”

  “Don’t speak in the past tense; she loves me.”

  “You know she doesn’t. But let’s not talk about anything that will put a damper on the party. It’s my night, Thomas. Let’s have a few drinks, and in my case one of these beauties who have come to see me.”

  Olivia arrived late. A few days earlier she had debuted in a comedy on Broadway in which Paul had gotten her a small role. I still hadn’t been to see her perform.

  First she greeted Paul, giving him a package that was beautifully wrapped. Paul was very touched and started to gesticulate as he unwrapped it.

  It was a V-neck cotton sweater of the sort that golfers wear. Esther praised Olivia’s good taste and asked a waiter to bring her a drink. Perhaps Paul was right and to Esther it represented not a secret but a liberation to know that Olivia shared a bed with me. Our love life had never been gratifying. I’d never dared to try anything too risqué. Esther wasn’t the kind of woman who sought new experiences. For her, it was probably a relief that I turned to Olivia with my fantasies instead of her.

  When one of the guests beckoned Esther, Paul and I stayed and chatted with Olivia for a while. She seemed more cheerful than usual.

  “You’re more beautiful than ever tonight, you’re wearing a special smile,” Paul said.

  “I have an admirer,” she boasted. “He’s been coming to see the show every night since the premiere. He’s already sent me flowers a few times.”

  “Be careful, Thomas, or he’ll steal the girl,” Paul teased.

  I didn’t find it funny at all. It truly irritated me that Olivia would brag in front of Paul about a guy who was head over heels for her. I didn’t say anything. I downed my drink and held her arm so tightly I knew I would leave a bruise on her pale white skin.

  Paul took his leave, realizing that I was annoyed and that I didn’t want a spectator at that moment.

  “So you have an admirer and you like that,” I said in a neutral tone.

  “Yes, Thomas, and because there are no secrets between us, I wanted to let you know. You still haven’t come to see the show, and you haven’t been by the apartment for a week, so I wasn’t able to tell you sooner.”

  “Is there something to tell? There’s a guy who likes you, so what? He’s not the first nor will he be the last.” I twisted her arm again.

  “Stop it! Stop hurting me. You don’t seem to understand, Thomas. I think Jerry is serious.”

  “Jerry? His name is Jerry? Wow!”

  “His name is Jerry King. He’s from Texas but has been living in New York for many years. He owns a few hardware shops. He does well.”

  “You’re going to tell me his biogra
phy now? I don’t give a damn where he’s from and you shouldn’t either. If he comes back to the theater tell him you don’t want him to bother you. It’s that simple.”

  “No. You’re not getting it. Maybe Jerry is my chance.”

  “Your chance? What are you talking about?” I yelled at her, ignoring the fact that people around us were staring.

  “If you continue to scream and twist my arm your wife will realize that something is up. I made a mistake. I felt I had to be loyal to you and tell you as soon as possible. I should have waited until you came to the apartment.”

  “What are you trying to tell me, Olivia?”

  “Well, that I don’t have a future with you. You pay for my apartment and living expenses. You got me a few minor roles and from time to time you hire me for some ad, but nothing worthwhile. I’m coming up on forty, Thomas. I need to think about my future.”

  “And you think your future is a guy who sells screws?”

  “He admires me. He’s seen me in a few commercials and says I’m a wonderful actress. He’d be delighted to be in a serious relationship with me. Jerry is the kind who marries.”

  “Oh, is he? You know him well enough to know that?”

  “He recently became a widower. He was married to the same woman for thirty years, and they didn’t even have children.”

  Esther walked up to us. Her face revealed a certain anxiety about the scene I was putting on with Olivia.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked gravely.

  “Of course not,” I replied, drily.

  “We’re in the middle of a friendly argument. You know that Thomas is very protective,” Olivia said, trying to muster a smile.

  “I see. Well, I don’t think this is the time or the place to argue. It’s Paul’s party,” Esther said without hiding her anger.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Olivia excused herself.

  She left me with Esther, which made me even more furious. Esther was especially upset at me.