The look he gave her was full of pity

“She's a child. She's twenty years younger than you,” Rose went on.

“She's mature for her age.”

“She's not funny, she's not charming … She talks with a Bronx accent, for Christ's sake.”

“So did my mother.”

“Is that what this is about? The great man returning to his humble roots? Save it for one of your musicals, Bobby.”

“I didn't mean to fall in love with her. I didn't want to. But I've never felt like this before …” There was something in his voice, a tenderness—or was it joy?—that she hadn't heard for years. If Rose had ever heard it. Had that tone ever been there for her?

“Sandy makes me happy.”

“Fine! Go shack up with her and fuck her brains out until you're bored with her. That should be a week from now. Then come home and we'll forget we ever had this conversation.” She had shocked herself with the obscenity, but she wasn't going to back off. Not this time.

“I need Sandy. And Carrie loves her.”

“If you think that little slut is going to be near my daughter again, you're crazy! Tell her never to come back to this apartment.” She started out of the room, but Bobby blocked her way.

“I want a divorce,” he said.

He'd never used that word before. She had never used it. Not that unthinkable, unbearable word. The room spun, and there was a good chance that she was going to be sick. She grabbed the back of a chair and hung on.

“Rose, we have to talk about this.”

“No, we don't. We're married. I'm your wife.” The room seemed to have settled down a bit and the nausea was slowly passing. “I put up with the cheating and the lying and your friends laughing at me behind my back. I stay home while you go out of town and screw whatever cheap little bitch you've picked up on the road. I go to bed and wait for you to come to me when you're smelling of that little bitch. I smile. And I pretend I don't know what you're doing. That's the way it's always been and that's the way it's going to stay.”

“Not anymore,” he said gently. The gentleness was worse than anything.

“Bobby, don't do this,” Rose heard herself start to beg. “I've always been a good wife. I've backed you, and—”

“It's not about you. It's her. She makes me feel alive.”

“And I gave you everything!” she screamed. “Could she hand you your career all tied up in a nice red bow? Could she turn you into the golden boy of Broadway? I made you!”

“I know. Why the hell do you think I've stuck around this long? Because I know how much I owe you.”

And there it was. He had stayed with her out of guilt. She had not won him after all.