Now that we were man and wife, this meeting in a dark hotel room and a big plush bed was entirely sanctioned. Eddie smiled, and then I did as well, as I sidled my body close to his under the covers. It was still early in the evening, but we were happy to fill the hours with long, uninterrupted kisses, Eddie making quick work of the few flimsy layers I had draped over my goose-pimpled skin.
I found it all to be pleasant enough, this indulgence in our new and total intimacy, but it was also the sort of thing that I suspected—and hoped—would grow more pleasant with repeated attempts. Eddie was not a passionate lover, but he was gentle and sweet, always ensuring that I was not uncomfortable. He bathed before and after our lovemaking, and he expressed his polite but resolute preference that I do the same. I didn’t mind that; the bath was big and porcelain, and we filled it with rose-scented oil, taking turns scrubbing each other and laughing as our limbs became tangled.
Several nights into our stay, after a long dinner—and more gin and claret for Ed than I thought entirely necessary—I helped my unsteady husband back to our suite. Usually so discreet in his behavior and genteel with his manners, my husband, I was beginning to notice, did grow louder after vast quantities of drink, and so I shushed him as he sang his way down the hotel hallway: “You’re the flower of my heart, Sweet Adeline, my Adeline.”
“Ed! Shhh!” We were newlyweds and this trip was a celebration, so I did not find this bit of overindulgence too troubling, but I did worry about disturbing the other guests. Once situated in the privacy of our bedroom, I shut the door and exhaled my relief.
“To bed, Mrs. Close. To bed,” Ed said, tugging on his shirt collar as he looked at me with listless gray eyes. He wanted to make love, I realized. I stifled the groan that nearly popped out; his present state of intemperance was not one I found attractive, but I reminded myself that we were newlyweds, and this was meant to be a week’s worth of celebrating our love, so I assented.
That was the first time that I did not enjoy our intimacy, nor did I find Ed to be gentle and sweet as he moved on top of me. A few minutes later, seemingly satisfied, he let loose a grunt and then rolled off to his own side of the bed. “Too much damned vino,” he muttered, his arm draped lazily over his sweaty face. “I was worried there for a moment I might not be able to see it through.”
I did not reply. Ed lay beside me on his back, languishing in bed, which was uncustomary, given his usual propensity to hop up and bathe immediately following lovemaking. But that night he remained there, propped up on his pillow, pouring himself another glass of red wine. I wanted to ask him whether the refill was necessary, but I bit back my words, guessing that they might come off as ornery. When he spoke next, his breath was thick with the smell of the wine: “To think, we might have just made Edward Close the Third.”
I flushed at that comment, pulling the covers a bit higher to my shoulders. He tipped his wineglass in my direction to ask if I wanted a sip, spilling some on the white sheets as he did so. I made a note in my mind to leave a larger than usual tip for the housekeeper the following morning and shook my head no to the offered wine. He sighed a moment, his fair hair falling unkempt around his splotchy face. “Of course, no wine for the pious Christian Scientist,” he said, a loose smirk sending his features lopsided. “Thankfully the children will be Episcopalian.”
I turned to face him, confused suddenly. By his tone, by the meaning of his comment. By how startlingly off-putting and unexpected his behavior suddenly was. All I could manage by way of response was an arch tone as I asked, “What?”
“Eh-pis-co-pale-eee-an,” he said loudly, hammering each syllable as if I were hard of hearing. And then he smiled, his lips and teeth stained crimson, as he added: “You do know that, right?”
I frowned. “I’m not sure where this is coming from, Ed.”
“It is coming from the fact that we are going to have children, Marjorie. And that our children will be raised as I was. And what’s more, it’s important that we be united in that, Marjorie. It’s a question of heritage: Closes are Episcopalians. You are now a Close. Which means I think you ought to become Episcopalian as well.”
I narrowed my eyes, my rosy modesty of the previous moment quickly gone. “But…Eddie. You know that I’m a member of the Church of Christ Scientist.”
Ed didn’t look at me when he spoke next, his words slow, his voice dripping with an obvious derision: “What do you suppose our friends in Greenwich will think of that?”