Vivian Vale: The Lie at Table Seven

Vivian Vale had discovered years ago that restaurants were among the worst places in the world for honesty. Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps the soft lighting, perhaps the peculiar intimacy of sitting across from someone while strangers occupied every table around you, close enough to hear but socially obligated to pretend they could not, but whatever the reason, people lied constantly in restaurants. They lied about money. They lied about work. They lied about where they had been. They lied about who had called. They lied about whether they were happy. And, more often than Vivian cared to count, they lied about love. Vivian sat alone at the small corner table she had requested, one ankle crossed over the other beneath the white linen, a half-finished glass of Burgundy beside her hand and a book lying open before her that she had stopped reading almost twenty minutes earlier, because the woman at Table Seven was much more interesting. She was perhaps thirty-nine, maybe forty, with dark auburn hair falling just beyond her shoulders, an elegant green dress, and the sort of face that became increasingly beautiful the longer Vivian watched it, not because every feature was perfect but because expressions moved across it so openly. Vivian liked expressive women. They were dangerous. And usually worth the trouble. The woman's husband—or boyfriend, although Vivian had already noticed the wedding ring—was handsome in the carefully maintained way of a man who knew people considered him handsome. He had spent most of dinner talking about himself. Vivian had spent most of dinner trying not to listen. Then he said, "I already told you, Claire, those charges were business expenses." Vivian's fingers stopped against the stem of her wineglass. There it was. A faint metallic taste spread across the back of her tongue. Lie. Claire looked down at the credit-card statement lying beside her plate. "Three hundred and eighty-seven dollars at the Bellmont Hotel?" "Client dinner." "At a hotel?" "The restaurant is inside the hotel." "And one hundred and forty-two dollars the following morning?" "Breakfast." The metallic sensation returned. Lie. Claire looked at him for several seconds. "That's an expensive breakfast." "There were four of us." Lie. Vivian picked up her wine. She should have returned to her book. She knew this. Whatever was happening at Table Seven was none of her concern, and she had learned long ago that correcting every lie she encountered was an excellent way to spend one's life being slapped, threatened, questioned by police officers, or occasionally chased through hotel lobbies by furious married men. So she looked down at her book. "I don't understand why we're doing this tonight," the man continued. "It's our anniversary." Claire's expression changed. "I'm doing this tonight because I found the statement this afternoon." "And I explained it." "You gave me an explanation." "Which is the same thing." "No, Daniel. It isn't." Vivian glanced up. Daniel. Good. She liked knowing the names of men immediately before ruining their evenings. Daniel reached across the table. "Claire, there is nothing going on." Lie. Vivian sighed softly. Claire pulled her hand away from his. "I didn't say there was." "But that's what you're suggesting." "I'm asking why you've been staying at the Bellmont when you've told me repeatedly that you were working late." "I wasn't staying there." Lie. Vivian closed her book. Apparently she was finished reading. Daniel leaned closer toward his wife. "I love you." Vivian waited. Nothing. Interesting. Truth. That, she had learned, was the most inconvenient kind. People frequently believed that love and betrayal were opposites. Vivian knew better. A person could love someone and still lie to them. Could love them and humiliate them. Could love them and sleep beside somebody else. Human beings were exceptionally talented at holding contradictory truths inside themselves. Claire folded the statement. "Then tell me what happened at the Bellmont." "I already have." "No. Tell me again." Daniel exhaled dramatically. "I had dinner with several clients. It ran late. I had breakfast there the next morning because we continued the meeting." Lie. Lie. And lie. Vivian lifted her glass and drained the remainder. Enough. She raised one finger toward the waiter. "Another?" He asked. "No, thank you. The check." She put her book into her handbag and stood. Table Seven sat between her and the restaurant entrance. Convenient. Vivian walked slowly through the room, passing close enough to Daniel's chair that when another waiter stepped sideways carrying a tray, Vivian shifted naturally to avoid him. "Oh, excuse me." Her left hand came down briefly against Daniel's shoulder. Barely a touch. Two fingers. Nothing more. Daniel glanced up. Vivian smiled. "My fault." "No problem." She continued walking. Behind her, Claire said, "So you had breakfast with the same clients?" Daniel answered immediately. "No, I had breakfast with Melissa." Vivian stopped. Only for half a second. She loved this part. There was silence. Then Claire said, very softly, "Who is Melissa?" Daniel's chair moved. "What?" "You just said you had breakfast with Melissa." "I—" Vivian turned slightly, pretending to search inside her handbag. Daniel stared at Claire with an expression of absolute horror. "I didn't mean to say that." Claire leaned back. "That's fascinating. Who is Melissa?" Daniel opened his mouth. "She's the woman I've been sleeping with." Vivian almost smiled. Claire did not move. Daniel slapped one hand over his mouth. The couple at the next table stopped pretending not to listen. Claire's face had become extraordinarily calm. "How long?" Daniel shook his head violently. "Claire, don't—" "How long?" "Eight months." "Oh my God." "No, that's not—" "Eight months?" "Sometimes at the Bellmont, sometimes at her apartment, once in Denver when I told you the conference had been extended." Daniel looked as though somebody else had taken control of his mouth. In a way, somebody had. Claire slowly removed her wedding ring. Daniel stared at it. "Claire." "Is Melissa the only one?" Daniel whispered, "Please don't ask me that." Vivian's eyebrows rose. Claire's did too. "The only one?" "No." "How many?" "Three." Claire stood. Daniel stood with her. "Claire, wait." "Three?" "Melissa was the only regular one." A woman somewhere behind Vivian made a choking sound that might have been laughter. Claire picked up her handbag. Daniel caught her wrist. "I love you." That, Vivian knew, remained true. Claire looked at his hand. "Take your hand off me." He released her. "Please." "You've been sleeping with three women." "Yes." "And lying to me." "Constantly." Daniel's eyes widened. Vivian had to look away. Claire laughed once. It was not a happy sound. "At least you're suddenly honest." "I don't know what's happening." "I do." She placed the wedding ring beside his wineglass. "Our anniversary is over." Then she walked away. Vivian watched her cross the restaurant. For one unpleasant second she wondered whether she had gone too far. That feeling passed. Daniel called after his wife. "Claire!" Daniel rushed past her. Vivian watched him go, knowing the effect of her touch would not last forever. It never did. Three minutes, sometimes five, and then whatever strange door she had opened inside a person quietly closed again. By the time Daniel reached Claire near the entrance, she could feel that moment approaching. "Wait. I don't know why I said those things." Claire turned. "Were they true?" He hesitated. And then Vivian felt it—the compulsion was gone. "No." The metallic taste touched the back of her tongue. Lie. Claire stared at him. Vivian felt another faint metallic sting. Daniel continued desperately. "I made it up. I don't know why." Lie. Claire shook her head. "No." "Claire—" "No. I watched your face. Those weren't things you invented." "Please come home." "I'm going somewhere else tonight." "Where?" "I have absolutely no idea." Vivian looked toward the bar adjoining the restaurant. Perhaps she did. II Twenty-three minutes later, Claire sat alone at the far end of the Bellmont's cocktail lounge. Vivian had not followed her. Technically. Vivian had merely decided that she wanted another glass of wine before going upstairs to her own room, and the Bellmont's lounge happened to be an excellent place to obtain one. The fact that Claire happened to be sitting there was simply fate being unusually cooperative. Vivian took the stool two places away. "Pinot noir, please." Claire looked sideways. Recognition came slowly. "You." Vivian turned. "I'm sorry?" "You bumped into Daniel." "Oh." Vivian smiled. "The man from the restaurant." "My husband." The bartender placed Vivian's wine before her. "That looked unpleasant." Claire laughed bitterly. "That's one word." Vivian lifted her glass. "Bad anniversary?" "My husband just confessed to sleeping with three women." Vivian winced. "I'd say that qualifies." Claire looked at her. "You heard?" "The entire restaurant heard." "Wonderful." "For what it's worth, nobody was looking at you." "They were." "All right. They were. But tomorrow they'll be looking at somebody else." That produced the smallest smile. Vivian liked it. She turned toward Claire properly now. Up close, she was even prettier. Hazel eyes. Tiny freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose. And anger suited her surprisingly well. Claire looked toward the shelves of bottles. "I've been married fourteen years." Vivian said nothing. "Fourteen years," Claire repeated. "And do you know the ridiculous part?" "What?" "I knew." Vivian's expression softened. "You knew about the affairs?" "No. Not exactly." Claire rotated her glass between her fingers. "But I knew something was wrong. Every time he said he was working late, every time he turned his phone over when I entered the room, every time he suddenly had another client dinner, I knew." "Then why didn't you ask?" "I did." "And?" "He lied." Vivian took a drink. "People often prefer a convincing lie to a frightening truth." Claire looked at her sharply. "That's an interesting thing to say." "I've had experience." "With cheating husbands?" "Not personally." Claire glanced at her. "No husband?" "No." "Divorced?" "No." "Boyfriend?" Vivian smiled. "Definitely no." Claire studied her for a moment longer. Then understanding arrived. "Oh." Vivian's smile broadened slightly. "Yes." Claire looked down at her drink. "Sorry." "For what?" "Assuming." "Everyone assumes something." Claire laughed quietly. "My husband apparently assumed I'd never find out." "People make terrible assumptions." They talked. At first about Daniel. Then deliberately not about Daniel. Claire taught history at a private college outside the city. Vivian worked as an independent consultant, which was technically true and sufficiently vague to prevent the inevitable questions about exactly how she spent her time. Claire hated olives. Vivian loved them. Claire had never been to Lisbon. Vivian insisted this was a personal failure requiring immediate correction. Claire liked jazz but despised modern country music. Vivian told her this was evidence of excellent judgment. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, Claire stopped looking like a woman whose marriage had ended less than an hour earlier and began looking like a woman sitting beside another woman she found interesting. Vivian knew that look. She had seen it before. Quite often. Claire said, "You're flirting with me." Vivian placed one hand over her heart. "I am shocked by the accusation." "You are." "Possibly." "I'm married." Vivian glanced toward Claire's bare left hand. "Debatable." Claire followed her gaze. "That's terrible." "It was." Claire laughed. "I shouldn't be laughing." "You should absolutely be laughing." "My life just exploded." "Then laughing is probably safer than throwing furniture." Claire turned toward her. "Do you always talk like this?" "Only when I'm trying to impress someone." "And are you?" "Trying?" "Impressing me." Vivian considered her. "I think so." "Very confident." "Experience." Claire became quiet. Vivian allowed the silence. Then Claire said, "Have you ever kissed a married woman?" Vivian took another sip. "Yes." Claire blinked. "That was fast." "You asked." "I expected diplomacy." "You don't strike me as somebody who needs diplomacy tonight." Claire studied her. "Did you know she was married?" "Sometimes." "Sometimes?" "There have been several." Claire laughed again. "You're dangerous." "No." Vivian leaned slightly closer. "I'm uncomplicated." "That's worse." "It can be." Claire looked at Vivian's mouth. There. Vivian noticed. Claire realized she had noticed. Neither woman looked away. "Have you ever kissed a woman?" Vivian asked. Claire's cheeks colored. "Once." "When?" "College." "Did you like it?" Claire hesitated. Vivian felt nothing. Truth. "Yes." "Did you want to do it again?" Another pause. "Yes." Truth. Vivian's voice dropped slightly. "And did you?" "No." Truth. Vivian smiled. "That seems unfortunate." Claire shook her head. "You really are flirting with me." "I stopped denying it several minutes ago." "What do you want?" Vivian could have lied. She never did when it mattered. "You." Claire stared at her. "Tonight?" "Tonight." "And tomorrow?" Vivian tilted her head. "Tomorrow morning." Claire's expression changed. Not offended. Not disappointed. Interested. "That's an extraordinarily honest proposition." "I find honesty useful." Claire looked back toward the bar. "My husband loves me." The statement surprised Vivian. "Yes." Claire turned quickly. "What?" Vivian realized her mistake. "You said he told you." "He did." "And you believe him?" Claire considered. "Strangely, yes." Vivian nodded. "He can love you and still have treated you terribly." Claire looked down. "I think that's what hurts." "I know." Another silence. Then Claire asked, "Are you staying here?" Vivian's eyes met hers. "Yes." "What floor?" "Nine." Claire finished her drink. "That's a terribly personal question." "You asked it." "I know." Vivian put several bills beneath her glass. Claire watched her. "Are you leaving?" "Eventually." "Alone?" Vivian stood. "That isn't entirely my decision." Claire looked at her for several long seconds. Then she reached for her handbag. "No." Vivian waited. Claire stood. "I suppose it isn't." III The elevator doors closed. For several seconds neither woman spoke. Vivian pressed nine. Claire watched the illuminated numbers. "This is insane." "Probably." "I've known you for an hour." "Seventy-three minutes." Claire turned. "You checked?" "I notice things." "I noticed." The elevator rose. Claire exhaled. "I don't want pity." Vivian looked at her. "Good." "Good?" "I don't pity you." "My husband cheated on me." "That makes him pathetic, not you." Claire's expression softened. "And I don't want to spend the night talking about him." "Excellent." "What do you want to talk about?" Vivian moved half a step closer. "At this particular moment?" Claire's breathing changed. "No." The elevator passed seven. "No?" "I don't think I want to talk." Vivian smiled. "That can be arranged." Claire kissed her first. It was brief, uncertain, almost experimental, a kiss delivered by a woman who had spent years imagining that part of herself safely buried somewhere in her twenties. She pulled away. Vivian said nothing. Claire looked nervous. "Well?" Vivian raised an eyebrow. "Well what?" "You're supposed to say something." "I thought you didn't want to talk." Claire laughed. Vivian touched her cheek. Not to compel truth. That was different. She never used the gift that way with women she wanted. "May I?" Claire whispered, "Yes." Vivian kissed her. This time Claire did not pull away. The elevator chimed. Neither moved. The doors opened. A man standing in the hallway looked at them. "Oh." Claire started laughing against Vivian's mouth. Vivian stepped back. "Our floor." "I gathered." They walked down the corridor. At Vivian's door Claire stopped. "This is the point where I can still change my mind." "Yes." "And you wouldn't be angry." "No." "Disappointed?" "Extremely." Claire smiled. "At least you're honest." Vivian unlocked the door. Claire remained outside. Vivian stepped inside and turned toward her. She did not extend a hand. Did not persuade. Did not charm. She simply waited. Claire looked down the corridor, then back at Vivian. "My marriage ended tonight." "Yes." "I don't know what I'm doing." "You don't have to." "This won't fix anything." "No." Claire nodded slowly. "Good." "Good?" "I don't want fixing." She stepped inside. "I want one night in which I don't feel like somebody's fool." Vivian closed the door. "You aren't." Claire looked at her. "Kiss me again." Vivian did. IV Morning came slowly through the curtains. Claire woke first. Vivian knew because she felt the mattress shift and heard the faint rustle of sheets, but she kept her eyes closed until Claire whispered: "Are you awake?" "No." Claire laughed softly. "You're terrible." Vivian opened one eye. "Good morning." Claire sat against the headboard, wearing one of Vivian's white shirts, her hair tousled, the green dress from the night before hanging over the back of a chair. "Coffee?" Vivian asked. "Desperately." Vivian ordered it from room service. They sat near the window twenty minutes later, Claire barefoot, Vivian wrapped in a robe, the city moving beneath them as though nothing particularly important had happened. Claire held her coffee with both hands. "I thought I'd feel guilty." "Do you?" "Not remotely." Vivian smiled. "That seems healthy." Claire looked toward her. "You're not going to ask for my number." It was not a question. Vivian rested her cup on the saucer. "No." Claire nodded. "I didn't think so." "Does that bother you?" Claire considered it. "A little." Vivian appreciated the answer. "But I knew what this was." "Yes." "You were very clear." "I try to be." Claire smiled faintly. "There's something almost funny about that." Vivian's eyes narrowed. "What?" "The woman I meet on the night I discover my husband has been lying to me turns out to be almost aggressively honest." Vivian laughed. "Life lacks subtlety." Claire looked at the skyline. "I don't know what happens now." "Now you go home." "To him?" "That's your decision." Claire shook her head. "No." Vivian waited. "No," Claire repeated. "Not to him. Home, perhaps. But not to him." She looked at Vivian. "I think I'm going to ask him to move out." "Good." "I might sell the house." "Also good." "I've wanted to travel for years." "Lisbon." Claire smiled. "Lisbon." "And after that?" "I don't know." Vivian leaned back. "That's the best part." Claire studied her. "And you?" "What about me?" "You'll find another woman at another restaurant?" Vivian smiled. "Possibly." "Destroy another relationship?" Vivian's smile faded slightly. "I don't destroy them." Claire held her gaze. "No." After a moment she nodded. "I suppose you don't." That sentence lingered between them longer than Vivian liked. Claire stood and retrieved her dress. At the bathroom door she stopped. "Vivian?" "Yes?" "Last night mattered." Vivian said nothing. Claire continued. "Not because I'm suddenly in love with you." "Thank God." Claire laughed. "But because for the first time in months, maybe years, I did something because I wanted to." Vivian's expression softened. "Then it mattered." Claire disappeared into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later Claire stood at the door wearing the green dress again. She looked different. Not happier exactly. But awake. Vivian walked her to the elevator. Claire pressed the button. "You know," she said, "Daniel is going to spend the rest of his life wondering why he suddenly confessed." Vivian smiled. "Maybe he developed a conscience." Claire laughed. "Daniel?" "Fair point." The elevator arrived. Claire stepped inside. Then she turned. "One last kiss?" Vivian leaned against the doorframe. "I thought you said last night mattered." "It did." "Then shouldn't we leave it there?" Claire considered this. "No." Vivian smiled. "Excellent answer." She stepped forward and kissed her. It was gentler than the kisses from the night before. A goodbye rather than a beginning. When they separated, Claire touched Vivian's cheek. "I won't forget you." Vivian looked into her eyes. "I know." Claire laughed. "Still confident." "Always." The elevator doors began closing. Claire lifted one hand. "Goodbye, Vivian." "Goodbye, Claire." The doors shut. Vivian stood alone in the corridor. Then she went back into her room, poured the last of the coffee, and walked toward the window. Somewhere several floors below, Claire was beginning the first morning of a life she had not expected to have. Vivian hoped it would be a good one. Her phone vibrated. A message from the hotel. Your checkout has been extended until noon. Vivian smiled. Plenty of time. She reached for her book. Then, through the partly open door to the hallway, she heard a man's voice. "I swear, sweetheart, she's just my business partner." The metallic taste touched the back of Vivian's tongue. Lie. Vivian slowly lowered the book. "Oh," she murmured. Then she smiled. "Here we go again."