Page 54 of Letters From Victor

I stepped closer, stopping at the edge of the Persian rug that anchored the room. “So you’ll agree to it?”

She shrugged, a gesture so nonchalant it bordered on resigned. “What choice do I have?” Her words drifted off like smoke.

“I’ll have Lawrence draw everything up,” I said, testing her oddly calm demeanor. “I’ll file, and in the meantime, nothing changes—you and Margaret will be maintained on the same terms as our current separation.”

Dorothy’s lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but she held back. The silence stretched, almost elastic, threatening to snap at any moment. She walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, her fingertips grazing the tops of furniture like a pianist playing an absentminded melody.

When she spoke, her voice was calculated and sterile, each word placed with surgical precision. “I will see my own lawyer. You’ll cover his fee, of course. I will be the one to file. You’ll take the blame in court. And we’ll revisit the terms of our separation agreement for something more appropriate. You’re going to make this worth my while.”

“Dorothy—” I started, but she held up a hand to stop me.

“Those are my conditions. If I’m going to bear the stain of being a divorced woman, then it damn well better be worth it to me.”

The words stung more than I expected. I nodded silently.

“You should go,” she said, glancing back at the window. “Margaret will be home soon, and I don’t want you here.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the glacial set of her eyes froze the words in my throat. She meant every bit of it—every condition, every accusation—and I knew there would be no negotiating this tonight.

The plush carpet muffled my steps as I walked to the foyer. I could almost hear Dorothy’s breathing, each inhale and exhale a metronome to the growing tension. I reached for my coat, the familiar wool brushing against my fingers, grounding me. My hat sat on the small mahogany table by the door where I had left it.

I paused for a moment, hoping for something—a rebuttal, a concession, even a parting shot—but there was only silence, vast and suffocating. The soft tick of the wall clock marked time like a dripping faucet.

“I’ll see myself out.”

23

BARBARA

April 1951

Thursday, April 12, 1951

7:00 p.m.

My darling,

I’m at my desk at the office working late tonight until about ten or so. I don’t mind too much anymore because it delays my going home to that empty apartment and makes my evenings a little more tolerable. I started to write you this morning, but then at noon, I had such a marvelous surprise that I thought I’d better start all over again. It was really good hearing your voice so unexpectedly. All morning, I sat looking at the phone, thinking how easy it would be just to pick it up and dialyour number. It’s an awful temptation, you know. I don’t know if I can go through with this time apart! I miss you oh so very much already. It doesn’t seem fair that two people in love such as we are should be kept apart! Knowing I’m not going to see you, hold you, touch you…leaves me with a horrible feeling of being all alone, like a whole portion of my being has been removed. You have become an integral part of my life, and your presence is essential to my peace of mind. I feel too that I’ve similarly affected you, which makes this all so difficult. And at times like now, sweetheart, the whole waiting for passing of time seems so senseless. But I do love you, and I do want you so very much. And time will pass…

I keep champing at the bit. I’m crazy to get started on our plans—specific plans for our house and everything. I’d like to sit down at the board or sprawl on the floor with you beside me and get something tangible down on paper. Start figuring out the little things—like where the bookcases go, what we will put in the dressing room, and what kind of pictures we will do for Frankie’s room. I want to get going on any planning and dreaming that we can share—really share! I want to take care of you andlove you truly—no more of this tomorrow or day after or later business, but NOW!

I have to give my written consent for Dorothy to speak to my lawyer. I understand, and I’ll take care of it after I finish my note to you. I want to get the divorce finalized as soon as possible so that you can finally file.

How goes the battle with you, sweetheart? Bet your days are long and lonely too, probably more so than mine because I have so many distractions all day long—work, I mean. I’m terribly sorry for the upheaval I’ve caused you. You’ve gone through so much on my account. I know you never would have done it if you didn’t honestly love me and want me for your own. That’s the only thing that makes it possible to go on waiting and hoping. Your devotion is the dearest thing in the world to me. Your love is the thing I count on when there is nothing else.

This is the last letter I can write this week. I’ll send it by courier so that you get it tomorrow. I’ll write again on Saturday, so you’ll get another letter on Monday. I’ll be working the next four Saturdays at least. If you need me for anything, I’ll be here… As a matter of fact, I think I’ll have a surprise for you. Maybe I’ll get Phil to bring it by, or perhaps I’ll mail it. We’ll see, butsince you’re not the curious type, I won’t even give you another hint!

Bet you’re just as beautiful (and you are, you know) today as you were the last time I saw you—your long blonde hair, your fresh “just showered” look… Everything I remember about you starts the fire all over again for me. You excite me and make me want to do wonderful things for you, my darling. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve ever hoped for.

Until later, dearest. Remember, you’re mine, and I adore you.

Always,

—V

PS: I wish I could have one of your extra special “kisses” right now…

Ialways thought those girls who gushed about butterflies in their stomachs were hopeless romantics. But Victor’s words, his voice, and the feel of his hands on my skin—all of it sent a delicious flutter through me. Maybe those girls weren’t just spouting vaporous nonsense after all.

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