Friday, January 07, 2005

Being alone

Hillary isn't home. I wish she was. I can't stand being by myself. Certainly not here in Chappaqua. This dreary weather, in the middle of nowhere. I wish Hillary would be home more often, that she would be content, that my legacy would be enough for the both of us.

She supported me through all of these years, so I have to support her. I know that, but that doesn't mean my heart wants it.

I've thought a lot about moving to Manhattan. That's impossible, but a small second home, an apartment would do.

I have a lot of friends in New York. I miss them. I miss going to Broadway, going to art expositions, going to fundraisers, socialites' dinner parties. I miss meeting people, talking, laughing.

If I want to do all these things now, I have to commute each day and stay at hotels. I dislike both. Apart from that, if you get invited, one day they expect you to invite. Where do I give my dinner party? In Chappaqua? Most people in Manhattan can't even pronounce the word, let alone have any inclination to visit this small town and my "farmhouse" dressed up in cocktail dresses and dangling with 200 year old jewellery. No, it just wouldn't work.

Apart from that, I'd have to host my parties alone, because Hillary spends most of the week in Washington. And I'd have to visit their parties by myself. I can hear the gossip already.

Lately she's been spending more and more time in Washington. Isn't she interested in spending time with me anymore? Is it because Chelsea is gone now and all we got left is the two of us? Is that not enough for her?

I like those moments when we sit at the fire place, with the sound of the rain gently hitting the roof in the background. We open up a bottle of wine. One from my stock, because my friends bring me the better stuff from France. I always tease her about the wine she gets.

Most of the time it's Californian Ernest and Julio Gallo wines given away by the case load to her and other congressmen by one of the company's directors trying to get some tax break for the wine industry.

I love those moments together with my wife. She'd be in her chair sipping her drink and reading her book and I'd be sitting there pretending to read, but actually looking at her. I love looking at Hillary. Me looking at her is how we met for the first time.

Those moments also make me sad. I know how many times I hurt her. I hurt her so very badly. There are times that I just want to get on my knees in front of her and tell her, I'm so sorry, sweetie. I'm so, so sorry.

But I'm afraid. We've regained a lot we lost, after the whole Ken Starr affair. I'm afraid if I tell her how I feel, this might anger her or bring back the old feelings and I might lose what I have right now.

I don't know what to do. I want to talk to her so much, but I fear her reaction.