Free Acts of Love by Judith Michael

welcomed the arrival of his salad and then their dinners. It became increasingly clear that Claudia had nothing particular to talk to him about or, if she did, was putting it off to another night, to make sure there would indeed be another night.
    â€œ. . . and of course it was such fun, all those people telling you how wonderful you were, and I was part of it. Nobody notices me now; do you know how awful that is? No, how could you? It’s the worst thing in the world; it’s like I’ve disappeared.”
    â€œYou have at least five hundred friends; you’re busy every night.”
    â€œWell, thank God; that’s what keeps me alive. But, you know, Luke, those are acquaintances; they’re not really friends who truly care about me. I mean, they think I’m somebody because I was married to you and I still see you, I mean, we still date once in a while, but when you come right down to it, you know, there is absolutely nobody waiting for me when I get home at night. Just that empty apartment.”
    I didn’t have people behind me, waiting for me to come home, keeping my bedroom ready and leaving the front door unlocked and the living room lamp lit.
    Luke felt a flicker of pity, which surprised him and left him momentarily silent. He seldom felt pity: he believed most people were the cause of their own troubles and had it in their power to clear them up if they so chose. Claudia especially—beautiful, spoiled, self-centered—had undercut their marriage from the beginning by refusing to share with him in building it. She had clung to him for everything: the fame he brought her, their travel, their friends, their social life, the way she organized her days, demanding of him that he tell her what to do with herself and how to do it. “You have a good sense of design,” he had said, and she had gone to design school until it bored her. “I’ll be an actress,” she had declared, staring down Luke’s look of disbelief, and she had gone to acting classes until even she had admitted that she had no talent and no real interest. Over and over, she had forced him to direct their marriage as he directed plays, but when something upset her she called him a tyrant. She preened at the attention they got when they went out, then sulked at home because people wanted to talk to Luke, not to her.
    â€œWhat do you want?” he had demanded when they had been married almost five years.
    â€œI want you to help me!” she flung at him.
    â€œI’ve helped you for five years,” he said quietly.
    â€œNot enough!”
    But by then he did not care whether it was enough or not. Whatever she wanted, it was more than he could give her and he was exhausted by her incessant demands. He said he wanted a divorce, and she went through with it, rigid with anger and the fear of being alone. She left New York and for a year Luke did not see her. But then she began calling him, first from Europe, to tell him she was coming home, then irregularly, begging to see him. And, almost always, Luke made the time to see her.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have married her,” Constance had told him. “You know perfectly well that you can’t tolerate dependent people and you knew from the time you met Claudia that she would lean on you for everything. But you can’t just cut her out of your life; you still have some responsibility for her.”
    â€œLuke, you’re drifting again!” Claudia exclaimed. “I wish, just once, you’d concentrate on me. We’d still be married if you’d been willing to do that.” Luke smiled and she looked at him defiantly. “I don’t see what you find amusing in that.”
    â€œI’m amused by the contortions people go through to explain the past. It’s not just you, it’s everyone, including me. Such convolutions to find ways to soothe our vanity.”
    â€œYou’re saying I’m