The Life She Wanted: A Novel(63)

Milton poured two brandies and handed one to Pandora.

“You’ll need one of these,” he said. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Harley was arrested last night. He’s in jail in New York.”

Pandora set the brandy on the side table and clutched the arm of the sofa to steady herself.

“Arrested!” She gasped.

“He was caught coming out of a bathhouse with another man.” Milton’s eyes darkened. “Porter Merrill, the politician. The police said they were drinking and engaged in lewd behavior. That’s still a crime in a public space. They were both taken to jail and held overnight.”

Pandora reached for the brandy. A sharp pain formed between her shoulders, and she found it hard to swallow. Milton must be mistaken. Harley wouldn’t put himself in that kind of situation. He’d promised to remain faithful.

“Are you sure? Perhaps it was a group of young men, carrying on and having fun,” she suggested. “A man like Porter Merrill must have a lot of friends.”

Milton shook his head. “It was only Harley and Porter. There’s no doubt what they were doing.”

A sick feeling overtook Pandora, like a sudden fever at the beginning of the flu.

“Does Adele know?”

“Adele answered the phone when the police called Blythdale. The doctor came and gave her some pills. I’m sorry she missed Esme’s birthday party.”

“When did this happen?” Pandora asked.

“Last night. The police didn’t get hold of me until this morning,” Milton answered. “I drove straight to the jail to post bail, but Harley won’t leave until Porter is released too. No one can get hold of Porter’s wife, and his parents are out of the country.”

“We have to get Harley released,” Pandora insisted.

“I tried to convince him; he looks terrible.” Milton sighed. “He’s unshaven, and his eyes are bloodshot.”

For a moment, Pandora’s fear and misery were replaced by rage. It was bad enough to have lunch with Porter in a brownstone in Greenwich Village. But Harley and Porter had been on the street, in full view of anyone passing by. How could Harley risk his reputation, their marriage, and Esme’s future for a smutty interlude?

Only last weekend Harley had taken Esme to see a pony at the stables in Annandale-on-Hudson. Pandora and Harley saw a play at the Poughkeepsie playhouse later that night. The next day, they ate lunch with his parents at Blythdale. Could the Harley who was so proud of his new loan programs at the bank, who couldn’t stop boasting about Esme’s growing vocabulary, be the same one who sat in a New York jail cell?

“How much did Harley have to drink?” Pandora inquired.

“I don’t know. The police found a bottle of gin on Porter in the cell,” Milton replied. “It was almost empty.”

Pandora wanted to turn her anger on Porter. This was Porter’s fault, he seduced Harley. But she knew that wasn’t true. From the first time she had seen Porter at their wedding, she had known Harley was in love with him. She detected a hopelessness about Harley when anyone mentioned Porter—as if Harley could do nothing to control his feelings.

Her heart went out to Harley; she wished that everything had been different. That Harley had loved her as a woman, and she’d never made love with Archie. Their marriage would have been a closed circle with Esme at the center. Porter wouldn’t have been allowed in, and none of this would have happened.

“How is Porter?”

“I didn’t see him.” Milton frowned. “There will be a terrible scandal. It’s already on the front page of this afternoon’s newspapers.”

“It’s in the newspapers already?” she asked.

Milton reached into his suit pocket; he handed her a folded-up newspaper.

“I didn’t know if I should show it to you.”

Harley’s photo stared back at her. Porter’s arm was draped around Harley’s shoulder, and they both wore dazzling smiles. Pandora had never seen the photo before, perhaps it was taken at a political fundraiser. Underneath was another photo, one of Harley outside the jail. His hair was disheveled, and he had a cut on his cheek.

Pandora’s stomach wrenched and she thought she might faint.

“Porter’s opponent will make sure this stays in the news; that’s the way politics works.” Milton looked at Pandora. He seemed suddenly older. “Harley will be caught in the middle of it.”

Porter and Doris were married now. Pandora and Harley had been invited to the wedding. They didn’t go because they were in Palm Beach for Thanksgiving. Porter was running for senator. If he won, he and Doris would move to Albany, and Pandora wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. But now, with this scandal in the papers, that was unlikely to happen.

“A crowd formed in front of the jail,” Milton said. “Somehow, Harley cut his cheek.”

“A crowd?” Pandora repeated, puzzled.

Milton fiddled with his cuff links. “Of people who hate homosexuals.”

Pandora looked at Milton in horror. Her cheeks burned and her throat was dry.

“I have to go down there; Harley could get hurt.”

“It’s not a good idea.” Milton shook his head. “I’ve decided this needs to be handled privately. Anything we do will create more of a stir.”