"Uh, huh," had been all that Pierre had said, which pointed up his lack of conversation and, in fact, a general absence of interest in anything not connected with motor racing or directly involving sex. About racing, Pierre could, and did converse animatedly and at length. But other subjects bored him. Confronted with current affairs, politics, the arts - which Erica tried to talk about sometimes - he either yawned or fidgeted like a restless boy whose attention could not be held for more than seconds at a time. Occasionally, and despite all the satisfying sex, Erica wished their relationship could be more rounded.
Around the time that the wish was developing into a mild irritation with Pierre, an item linking their names appeared in the Detroit News.
It was in the daily column of Society Editor Eleanor Breitmeyer, whom many considered the best society writer in North American newspaperdom.
Almost nothing which went on in the Motor City's social echelons escaped Miss Breitmeyer's intelligence, and her comment read:
***
Handsome, debonair race driver Pierre Flodenhale and young and beautiful Erica Trenton - wife of auto product planner Adam - continue to relish each other's company. Last Friday, lunching tete-a-tete at the Steering Wheel, neither, as usual, had as much as a glance for anyone else.
***
The words on the printed page were a startling jolt to Erica. Her first flustered thought as she read them was of the thousands of people in Greater Detroit - including friends of herself and Adam - who would also see and talk about the column item before the day was out. Suddenly, Erica wanted to run into a closet and hide. She realized how incredibly careless she and Pierre had been, as if they were courting exposure, but now it had happened she wished desperately they hadn't.
The News items appeared in late July - a week or so before the Trentons' dinner with Hank Kreisel and their visit to his Grosse Pointe home.
The evening the item was published, Adam had brought the Detroit News home, as he usually did, and the two of them shared it, in sections, while having martinis before dinner.
While Erica had the women's section, which included Society, Adam was leafing through the front news portion. But Adam invariably looked over the entire paper systematically, and Erica dreaded his attention turning to the section she was holding.
She decided it would be a mistake to remove any part of the newspaper from the living room because, however casually she did it, Adam would probably notice.
Instead, Erica went to the kitchen and served dinner immediately, taking a chance that the vegetables were done. They weren't, but when Adam came to the table he still hadn't opened any of the newspaper's back sections.
After dinner, returning to the living room, Adam opened his briefcase as usual and began work. When Erica had cleared the dining room, she came in, collected Adam's coffee cup, straightened some magazines and picked up the pieces of newspaper, putting them together to take out.
Adam had looked up. "Leave the paper. I haven't finished,"
She spent the remainder of the evening on a knife edge of suspense.
Pretending to read a book, Erica watched covertly each move which Adam made. When at last he snapped his briefcase closed, her tension mounted until, to Erica's unbelievable relief, he went upstairs to bed, apparently forgetting the newspaper entirely. She hid the paper then, and burned it next day.
But burning a single copy would not, she knew, prevent someone else showing the item to Adam or referring to it in conversation, which amounted to the same thing. Obviously, many on Adam's staff, and others he associated with, had read or been told about the juicy piece of gossip, so for the next few days Erica lived in nervous expectation that when Adam came home he would bring the subject up.
One thing she was sure of: If Adam learned of the item in the News, Erica would know. Adam never dodged an issue, nor was he the kind of husband who would form a judgment without giving his wife the chance to state her case. But nothing was said, and when a week had gone by Erica started to relax. Afterward, she suspected what happened was that everyone assumed Adam knew, and hence avoided the subject out of consideration or embarrassment. For whatever reason, she was grateful.
She was also grateful for an opportunity to assess her relationships with both men: Adam and Pierre. The result - in everything except sex and the small amount of time they spent together, Adam came out far ahead.
Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - for Erica, sex continued to be important in her life, which was the reason she agreed to meet Pierre again a few days later, though this time cautiously and across the river in Windsor, Canada. But of all their rendezvous, this latest proved the least successful.
The fact was: Adam had the kind of mind which Erica admired. Pierre didn't. Despite Adam's obsessive work habits, he was never out of touch with the sum of life around him; he had strong opinions and a social conscience. Erica enjoyed hearing Adam talk - on subjects other than the auto industry. In contrast, when she asked Pierre for his views on a Detroit civic housing controversy, which had been headline news for weeks, Pierre had never heard of it. "Figure all that stuff's none of my business," was a stock reply. Nor had he ever voted. "Wouldn't know how, and I'm not much interested."
Erica was learning: An affair, to be successful and satisfying, needed other ingredients than merely fornication.
When she asked herself the question: Who, of all the men she knew, would she soonest have an affair with, Erica came up with the revealing answer - Adam.
If only Adam would function as an entire husband.
But he rarely did.
The thought about Adam stayed foremost in her mind through several more days, carrying over to their evening at Grosse Pointe with Hank Kreisel.
Somehow, it seemed to Erica, the ex-Marine parts manufacturer managed to bring out all that was best in Adam, and she followed the talk about Hank Kreisel's thresher, including Adam's cogent questioning, with fascination. It was only afterward, going home, when she remembered the other part of Adam she had once possessed - the eager lover, explorer of her body, now seemingly departed - that despair and anger overwhelmed her.
Her statement, later the same night, that she intended to divorce Adam had been real. It seemed hopeless to go on. Nor, next day or during others following, had Erica's resolve weakened.
It was true she did nothing specific to set the machinery of divorce in motion, and did not move out of the Quarton Lake house, though she continued sleeping in the guest bedroom. Erica simply felt that she needed a chance, in limbo, to adjust.
Adam did not object - to anything. Obviously he believed that time could heal their differences, though Erica did not. Meanwhile she continued to keep house, and also agreed to meet Pierre, who had telephoned to say he would be briefly in Detroit during an absence from the racing circuit.
***
"Something's wrong," Erica said. "I know it is, so why don't you tell me?"
Pierre appeared uncertain and embarrassed. Along with his boyishness, he had a transparent manner which revealed his moods.
He said, in bed beside her, "It's nothing, I guess."
Erica propped herself on an elbow. The motel room was darkened because they had drawn the drapes on coming in. Even so, enough light filtered through for her to see the surroundings clearly, which were much like those of other motels they had been in - characterless, with mass-produced furniture and cheap hardware. She glanced at her watch. It was two in the afternoon, and they were in the suburb of Birmingham because Pierre had said he would not have time to drive across the river into Canada.
Outside, the day was dull and the midday forecast had predicted rain.
She turned back to study Pierre whose face she could see clearly too.
He flashed a smile, though with a touch of wariness, Erica thought. She noticed that his shock of blond hair was mussed, undoubtedly because she had run her hands through it during their recent love-making.
She had grown genuinely fond of Pierre. For all his lack of intellectual depth, he had proved agreeable, and sexually was every inch a man, which was what Erica had wanted after all. Even the occasional arrogance - the star syndrome she had been aware of at their first meeting - seemed to fit the masculinity.
"Don't mess about," Erica insisted. "Tell me whatever's on your mind."
Pierre turned away, reaching for his trousers beside the bed and searched in their pockets for cigarettes. "Well," he said, not looking at her directly, "I guess it's us."
"What about us?"
He had a cigarette alight and blew smoke toward the ceiling. "From now on I'll be more often at the tracks. Won't get to Detroit as much. Thought I ought to tell you."
There was a silence between them as a coldness gripped Erica which she struggled not to show. At length she said, "Is that all, or are you trying to tell me something else?"
Pierre looked uneasy. "Like what?"
"I should think you'd be the one to know that."
"It's just . . . well, we've been seeing a lot of each other. For a long time."
"It certainly is a long time." Erica tried to keep her voice light, knowing hostility would be a mistake. "It's every bit of two and a half months."
"Gee! Is that all?" His surprise seemed genuine.
"Obviously, to you it seems longer."
Pierre managed a smile. "It isn't like that."
"Then just how is it?"
"Hell, Erica, all it is - we won't be seeing each other for a while."