“These were taken by a gossip rag,” Manny said. “Fortunately, we have a friend there who offered them to me first. I paid twenty thousand dollars to see my wife with another man. Do you love him?”
“No.”
“But he does for you what I can’t,” Manny said. He was calm, didn’t seem angry, not even hurt.
Madeleine nodded. “Yes.”
“I knew you could never love me,” Manny said, “not in that way. You were very honest about that. I know I don’t meet your needs—”
“Manny—”
“Be quiet now,” he said. “I just want you on my arm when I go out, I want to see you when I get up in the morning and when I go to bed at night. You have needs, they should be met, I accept that. What I will not accept is a scandal. I will not be embarrassed.
“This thing with Di Bello stops now. No more famous men, no celebrities, no long-term affairs. They’re too risky. I expect you to be discreet in the men you choose and careful in the way you conduct yourself. Do we have an understanding?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, Manny.”
“Sorry is for children,” he said.
Later, lying in bed, Madeleine heard him drag his heavy foot into the room. A while later she felt his weight on the mattress. Then she felt him crying.
Madeleine heard the next day that Jack Di Bello had moved to New York.
She and Manny limped through the paces after that, polite but distant. He was still kind and considerate, they slept in the same bed, but he never touched her and she never made the first move.
Manny was right, though, she had needs.
Madeleine found her lovers in restaurants and bars, at blackjack tables and roulette wheels, on tennis courts and golf greens. They were never Las Vegas locals, always tourists or traveling businessmen. She met them once and only once, summarily dismissed them, and then went home to shower them off her.
It went on for two years.
The last one of these men was Marty Ryan.
The son is so much like the father, she thinks now, looking at Danny lying in the hospital bed. The same reddish-brown hair, the same eyes, the same delicate pride, the same wounded dignity.
She met Marty in the bar at the Flamingo and knew before the ice had melted in the first drink that she was going to do him.
He was so handsome, with that boyish, mischievous smile and that looking-for-trouble glint in his eyes. And he had the worst, corniest pickup line, so bad it was charming. “It’s a shame for someone so beautiful to be drinking alone.”
“Maybe I’m waiting for someone,” she said.
“No, I was talking about myself.”
She laughed out loud and didn’t object when he sat down next to her and signaled the bartender for another round.
“I’m Marty Ryan.”
“Madeleine McKay.”
He saw her wedding ring and the big rock Manny gave her when he proposed. Didn’t seem to faze him at all.
“Where are you from?” Madeleine asked.
“Providence. That’s in Rhode Island.”
“What brings you to town?”
“Taking care of some business,” Marty said. “I’ll just be here a couple of days.”
“Do you like it here?”
“I do now.”
“Marty . . .”
“Madeleine . . .”
“Do you like to fuck?”
“No,” he said. “I love to fuck.”
He really did. She gave him the name of an out-of-the-way motel and they spent the afternoon making love. And that’s what it was—making love. She felt something with Marty that she hadn’t felt with Jack or Manny.
Madeleine broke her rules—saw him every day for a week. The last day, when she got up to put her clothes on, he asked, “When can I see you again?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
He looked stunned, angry, hurt. “The hell you mean?”
“Marty, it was wonderful,” she said. “Truly. But there can’t be anything more between us. Ever.”
“I’m in love with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“No, I am,” Marty said. “I’ll move here if you want.”
“I don’t,” she said. “I’m married, Marty.”
“You didn’t seem so married a few minutes ago.”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s simple,” he said. “I love you.”
“Well, that’s too bad.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Goodbye, Marty.”