Market Street Read online

  “I should go. It’s going to take hours to get home.” Cassie pushed her plate away.

  “James, these sketches are perfect. You can start ordering materials.” Diana took her gold American Express card from her wallet.

  “Mother, I need to talk to Aidan,” Cassie interrupted.

  “Darling, this is going to be brilliant. And you’re a natural. At one dinner you thought of half a dozen things that will thrill customers.”

  “Your mother is right.” James nodded. “Your ideas are inspiring.”

  Cassie blushed. “Aidan is writing a really important paper, and he needs my support. Isabel is going to stay with us for a month this summer.”

  “James”—Diana tapped her American Express card on the table—“tell Cassie about the food hall at Harrods.”

  “The architecture is Beaux Arts style, all gold finishes and intricate ironwork. The floors are black-and-white marble, and the most amazing chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The cheese hall has more than three hundred varieties of cheese, and the meat hall serves wild boar and Cornish hens. The candy hall is like Christmas every day with giant jars of jelly beans, caramels, lollipops, and candy canes.” James’s green eyes sparkled.

  “Cassie.” Diana handed the waiter her American Express card.

  Cassie looked from her mother to James to the storyboards on the table. “I’ll talk to Aidan.” She stood up and asked the maître d’ for her coat.

  * * *

  Driving across the bridge in the rain, Cassie listened to the wipers cutting across the windshield. Her head swam with images of Harrods: rows of jams and jellies, shelves of spices. She pictured James’s sketches of glass cases full of truffles and fridges stuffed with cheese.

  When she pulled into the driveway the house was dark. Aidan’s car was in the garage; the front seat was littered with textbooks, a laptop, and empty coffee cups. Cassie smiled. She’d clear it out for him as a surprise. She’d cook his favorite breakfast: whole-wheat pancakes with fresh orange juice. She’d pack lunch so he didn’t have to stand in line at the campus food court. She crept into the house, hung her London Fog in the closet, and climbed upstairs.

  Aidan slept on his stomach, his arms splayed across the bed like a swimmer doing the butterfly. Cassie undressed and climbed in beside him. She draped his arm over her chest, hoping he’d wake so she could tell him about the sculpted mermaids in the Harrods fish hall, about her idea for red Fenton’s airtight containers. He snored softly, his foot twitched, but he didn’t stir. Cassie closed her eyes and pulled the down comforter up to her chin.

  5.

  Alexis called the next morning. “How was dinner at Boulevard?”

  Cassie stood by the kitchen window, watching her garden become a river of mud. Aidan had left for an early meeting, grabbing a pancake and the turkey sandwich she packed in Maria’s lunch box.

  “Rack of lamb, potatoes, and poached pears for dessert.” Cassie sipped the remains of Aidan’s coffee.

  “I wasn’t talking about the food. Give me the dish, did your mother turn it on thick?”

  Cassie laughed. “You know her too well. Very thick, and James showed me his designs.”

  “And?” Cassie pictured Alexis perched on the ostrich-skin stool in her chrome kitchen, sipping a cup of chai tea.

  “They were fantastic”—Cassie breathed—“and he described the Harrods food hall. It sounds amazing, Alexis, like a fairy-tale castle filled with food.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  “I don’t know.” Cassie sighed. “I need to talk to Aidan.”

  “You should, I spent all day in Fenton’s yesterday. I am in love with the new Ella Moss sweaters, and your mother stocks the most fabulous Prada flats. I bought three pairs: orange, cream, and black,” Alexis replied.

  “I’ll tell her, she’ll be pleased.” Cassie put the coffee cup in the sink.

  “Today I’m doing Neiman’s. It’s raining too hard to do anything but shop. I figured I’d spend one hour per floor. With an hour lunch break, that’s an eight-hour workday,” Alexis said.

  “Sounds like a hard job.” Cassie laughed.

  “Was he cute?” Alexis changed the subject.

  “Was who cute?” Cassie put away berries, syrup, and whipped cream.

  “The architect. I told you I want the dish.”

  “He looked like Clark Kent.” Cassie put the orange juice in the fridge.

  “Oooh, I love the nerdy, bookish type. Does he wear those round, rimless glasses?”

  “I can’t remember. Shouldn’t you be focusing on Carter and your couples yoga classes?” Cassie sat at the kitchen table. The rain was falling sideways against the glass. The flowers in the window box were plastered against the soil.

  “Carter is in Luxembourg, researching a new telecommunications company.” Alexis sighed. “Tonight we’re going to try Skype sex. I bought a black lace teddy.”

  “I don’t need the visual.” Cassie grimaced.

  “Come with me to Neiman’s today, you can’t play in the garden in the rain.”

  “I’m going to make pizza for Aidan,” Cassie said, suddenly deciding she’d go to the co-op and buy fresh ingredients for mozzarella pizza.

  “Do the food emporium, Cassie. Your talents are wasted on Aidan.”

  “You sound like my mother.” Cassie grabbed a pen and scribbled down a shopping list.

  * * *

  Cassie folded her raincoat over the shopping cart and consulted her list. Heirloom tomatoes, round and firm and just a little bit sweet, were the key to delicious pizza. She put oregano and fresh basil in the cart, and added anchovies and a ball of mozzarella cheese.

  The tomatoes were displayed on a table at the back of the co-op. Cassie picked out two red tomatoes and weighed them on the metal scale.

  “The yellow tomatoes are sweeter.” A girl stood behind her, holding a bag of yellow tomatoes.

  “Thanks, I’ll try one.”

  The girl had feathery blond hair and big brown eyes. “The co-op has the best heirlooms.” She placed her tomatoes on the scale. “I eat them with salt and oregano.”

  “I’m making pizza.” Cassie frowned. The girl looked vaguely familiar, like she’d seen her at the co-op before. She wore a bomber jacket and army green rain boots.

  “I eat pizza every other day. The waiter at Gino’s gives me buy-one-get-one-free coupons.” The girl looked closely at Cassie. “Hey, I know you. You’re the woman who owns Fenton’s.”

  Cassie blushed. “My mother owns Fenton’s.”

  “I returned that pendant after Christmas and you gave me a refund.” The girl stood very close to Cassie. She had long blond eyelashes.

  “I remember.” Cassie froze. She gripped the handle of her shopping cart.

  “It was nice of you to give me cash instead of store credit.” The girl smiled. She had full red lips and straight white teeth. “I bought myself a microwave so I can heat up chicken rice bowls. I was vegetarian for a while; my boyfriend made me feel guilty for eating meat. We lived on tofu for months. I mean, tofu is okay if you drench it in soy sauce”—the girl ate a grapefruit sample and handed one to Cassie—“but I grew up on a farm in the Midwest. We ate eggs for breakfast and chicken or lamb for dinner.”

  Cassie wished the girl would stop talking and go away. She wanted to maneuver her cart to another aisle, but it was clogged with shoppers sampling produce.

  “My parents weren’t happy I was dating a vegetarian. They weren’t pleased that I came to Berkeley to go to school; they thought everyone wore tie-dyed T-shirts and had dreadlocks. I told them the sixties was decades ago, and that Berkeley is one of the top universities in the country.” The girl tried cucumber and hummus, a cup of salsa, and a few baked pita chips. “I love the co-op, you can have lunch without buying a thing. Try the chips, they’re really good.”

  “No, thank you.” Cassie shook her head.

  “The professors are so nice, they really seem to care. When my boyfriend broke up wit
h me, my ethics professor gave me a present. I was sitting at Peet’s sobbing, and he just walked up to me and handed me that Fenton’s box. He’s kind of old but he has the most amazing black eyes.”

  Cassie felt her knees buckle. She tightened her grip on the shopping cart.

  “It was sweet, I was so upset I considered going home. But I thought, fuck it, I’m going to forget Jack—that was my boyfriend—and get on with it. I bought an organic chicken and ate the whole thing.” The girl brushed the hair from her eyes. “And then I went to Fenton’s to return the pendant and you were so nice, I called my mother and said California is full of nice people. I just picked the wrong guy. Jack wasn’t even from California; I think he was from Michigan.” The girl paused, sucking on a slice of orange.

  “I baked pumpkin muffins for the professor to thank him. Jack said I made the best pumpkin muffins. He lied about that too. He ran off with my best friend to open a bakery. He took all the money we saved and went to Oregon.”

  Cassie didn’t know where to look. The girl just kept talking and talking. She tried to push the cart but the girl leaned against it, as if they were chatting at a cocktail party.

  “I mean who wants to go to Oregon anyway? It rains like three hundred days a year. Anyway, I’m so over him. I made the professor pumpkin muffins and I bought a red lace bra and panties from the lingerie store on Bancroft.” The girl paused and popped a zucchini stick in her mouth. “No matter how old they are, men can’t resist lace.”

  Cassie leaned forward against the shopping cart. She could hear her heart hammering in her chest. When she looked up the girl’s face was close to hers and she was frowning.

  “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to faint. Maybe you’re getting the flu. It’s all this rain. I take tons of vitamin C, and vitamin D. Can I get you a glass of water?”

  Cassie opened her mouth but she couldn’t form any words. She grabbed her bag and ran out of the store. She stood at the car door, rifling through her purse for her keys. She turned the bag upside down on the wet cement, scattering lip gloss, credit cards, Kleenex, cell phone. She found her keys, swept everything in the bag, and climbed into the car. The rain drummed on the windshield and she half expected to see the girl’s face pressed against the glass, asking if she was okay. She laid her head on the steering wheel, closed her eyes, and started to cry.

  * * *

  Cassie stumbled into the house and shut the door. She wanted to run upstairs, turn on the shower, and dissolve into the steam. But she couldn’t get farther than the laundry room. She grabbed a towel from the top of the pile, pulled out the kitchen chair, and waited.

  Now it was almost dark outside. Her clothes were damp and there was a puddle of water on the kitchen floor. She checked her cell phone; it was past five o’clock. Aidan could be home any time.

  Her mother left a message and Alexis sent texts detailing her Neiman’s shopping adventure. “Found the most divine ruby earrings.” “Cashmere gloves on sale! Picked you up a pair.” “In the café, eating coq au vin.” Cassie read the texts, deleted them, and wrapped the towel tighter around her shoulders.

  Her head ached, her throat hurt, her forehead was on fire. She wanted to rest her head on the kitchen table, but every time she closed her eyes she saw Molly Payne in a lace bra and panties, offering Aidan a pumpkin muffin.

  Aidan walked in the back door and put his lunch box on the table. “Cassie, why are you sitting in the dark? You’re all wet.” He kissed the top of her head. “Christ, you’re burning up! You should be upstairs in bed.”

  Cassie opened her eyes wider and looked at him. He looked the same: hair damp and curly from the rain, wet splotches on his leather jacket, shaving nick on his chin.

  “Molly Payne,” Cassie said.

  “Who?” Aidan sat down at the table.

  “Your student, Molly Payne.” Cassie’s head felt so heavy it was an effort to talk.

  “What about her?”

  “I saw her at the co-op. I was going to make pizza tonight.”

  “You’re in no condition to cook. Go up to bed. I’ll bring tea and brandy.” Aidan stood up and turned on the stove.

  “How were her pumpkin muffins?”

  “Cassie, you’re not making sense. C’mon, I’ll take you upstairs.”

  It was when he touched her that she snapped. “Molly Payne made you pumpkin muffins”—she was almost yelling—“and she bought a red lace bra and panties to seduce you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Aidan grabbed Cassie’s arm.

  “Let go of me.” She pulled away. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Where did you fuck her? On the sofa in your office?”

  “I’ll pour some brandy.”

  “I don’t want any brandy.” Cassie was shivering again. Her hands shook, her lips chattered, her knees knocked together.

  “I do.” Aidan took the brandy from the pantry and filled his glass.

  “Tell me what happened,” Cassie said, trying to keep her body still, “or I’m going to come to your class tomorrow and find out myself.”

  Aidan drank the brandy and refilled his glass. He looked at Cassie carefully. He took off his jacket, sat down, and clasped his hands together.

  “I’m not proud,” he said quietly, “but I’m human.”

  “Would you stop playing the ethics professor?” Cassie interrupted. “I don’t want to hear about Aristotle and human weakness. I want to know if you fucked Molly Payne.”

  The silence was broken by the rain beating against the glass. Cassie waited for Aidan to tell her it never went that far, that she got it all wrong.

  “Just once”—he put his head in his hands—“and I’m so sorry. It will never happen again.”

  Cassie opened her mouth but nothing came out. She looked at Aidan. His lips were set in a thin line, his eyes focused on his glass. She tried again.

  “Tell me.”

  “Molly left a plate of muffins on my desk the first day of classes, with a note thanking me for the pendant. She waited for me after the lecture, said she wanted my help with the paper she was writing.” Aidan poured another shot of brandy. “I explained I don’t hold office hours the first week of classes. She asked if I could squeeze in a few minutes at Peet’s, on my way home. It’s nice to see a student care about the class.”

  Cassie wanted to scream that Molly only cared about fucking the professor, about erasing the pain of being jilted.

  “Molly was sitting at a table near the window. She’d ordered me a peppermint latte. She said her paper was on her desktop and she couldn’t get her printer to work. She asked if I could come to her apartment.”

  Cassie gripped the edge of the kitchen table. She watched her knuckles turn blue.

  “I said no, I couldn’t go to a student’s apartment. She said please, just for a minute. She’d just grab a latte for her roommate.” Aidan looked at Cassie, his eyes were wet. “I figured if her roommate was there it was no big deal. We walked two blocks. Her roommate was just going to work.”

  Cassie didn’t look at Aidan. She studied the pile of mail on the kitchen table.

  “I sat at her computer and read the paper. It was a small room but it wasn’t her bedroom. There was a futon and a wooden coffee table and a galley kitchen with a microwave on the counter.” Aidan reached out and touched Cassie’s hand. “Molly said she’d heat up some muffins. I thought she was in the kitchen but she was standing behind me. She’d stripped off her clothes.”

  “Stop.” Cassie took her hand away. “I don’t want to know.”

  “I was like Pavlov’s dog, you’ve got to believe me.” Aidan grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard. “Christ, Cassie, she was almost naked, she was kissing me, sitting in my lap before I could move. She dragged me onto the futon, I don’t even remember taking off my pants.”

  “Get out,” Cassie whispered.

  “I said I wasn’t proud, fuck, Cassie, I’ve been beating myself up all week. I’ve never done anything lik
e this before. I love you, do you understand? I love you.” He was almost shouting.

  “Aidan, just stop.”

  “We’ve been married ten years and I’ve never strayed. I’m not going to let this come between us.”

  “You screwed her, Aidan, you fucked your student.” Cassie’s voice was hoarse. She was sweating and freezing at the same time.

  “Cassie, I know I made a colossal mistake. Let me carry you upstairs and put you to bed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Please, I’m begging you.” Aidan grabbed her wrists and pulled her toward him.

  Cassie’s head throbbed. It would be so easy to let Aidan put her to bed. She could drink a shot of brandy, take some Tylenol, wait until the fever subsided and she had time to think.

  She pulled her hands away and knocked Aidan’s lunch box onto the floor. A half-eaten sandwich flew out. Cassie bent down to pick it up. She stuffed wheat bread, turkey, and wilted lettuce back in the box. She scrunched up a piece of plastic wrap and a cupcake doily. She put the lunch box on the table and grabbed her purse.

  “I’m going to stay with Alexis for a while.” She stood up. Her legs were wobbly and black spots exploded like flashbulbs in front of her eyes.

  “It’s pouring and you’ve got a fever. I’m not going to let you drive over the bridge.” Aidan blocked the kitchen door.

  Cassie felt her head clear. “I’m not your student, I’m not your daughter, and I don’t know if I’m still your wife,” she said the words slowly. “I’ll text you when I get there.”

  6.

  Cassie started hallucinating as she circled Alexis’s block. Driving across the bridge, she kept her eyes glued to the lights of the car in front of her. She gripped the steering wheel so tightly, she thought she’d rip the leather. She turned on the radio and listened to KFOG as she climbed the hills into Presidio Heights.

  The rain became a constant drizzle instead of a downpour, and she found a parking space a block from Alexis’s house. She locked the car and walked down the street. Suddenly every house—three-story brick mansions behind iron gates crawling with ivy—looked the same.