I
told her so. “The last thing I need is a problem with the IRS,” I said.
“But I don't understand,” she said. “I'm going to be moving
back in with you anyway.”
“I can't do it,” I said.
She was pretty angry, and for a while the good Nicole was
nowhere in evidence. Luckily I wasn't around too often, but even
when I wasn't home she somehow managed to bring her problems
to my doorstep—literally. She would come by the house with the
kids, say, to use the pool, and she took to ordering Michele around,
acting like she still lived there. Michele tolerated it, but there were
limits. One day Nicole asked to be let into my home office, which
was locked, and Michele told her she'd have to get permission from
me. “No one is allowed in Mr. Simpson's office,” she reminded her.
“It's one of his rules.”
“I'm not asking you,” Nicole said. “I'm telling you.”
“I'm sorry, Miss Nicole. I can't let you in without Mr.
Simpson's say so.”
Nicole went off on her, cursing and calling her names, then
went out to the pool and grabbed the kids and took off in a huff
She was making friends Ieft and right.
I came home for Christmas, and we focused on the kids,
spoiling them with presents. I got a few small presents of my own,
but only one of them really meant anything to me, and that was
the fact that we didn't have a single scene or a single argument in
the course of that entire week. I don't know if that qualifies as a
present, but I appreciated it, and I made a point of telling her so.
To be honest with you, when things were good like that, I always
found myself feeling bad—always found myself thinking about
the way things might have been. Nicole had given me fifteen great
years, but that Nicole hadn't been around much recently, and the
Nicole who had taken her place was not someone I knew or even
wanted to know. At that point, I was pretty much biding my time
until the year was up. And in some ways, to be honest, I was
already gone.
I remember speaking to Nicole's mother about the various
problems—the business with the housekeeper, the questionable
friends, the drugs—and she was just as concerned as I was. Unlike
me, though, she was still hopeful. “Maybe it's just a phase,” she
said. “Maybe she'll get tired of running around with those people.”
“Well, I hope so,” I said. “But I don't know. 'Whenever I try to
talk to her about it, she gets pissed off.”
“I don't think there's anything either of us can do,” she said.
“Nicole's going to have to get through this herself.”
I wasn't exactly sure what it was she was supposed to get
through, to be honest. People fail at marriage every day, and they
either find their way back or not. The question, for me, even then,
was why did we fail--where did we go wrong? Nicole had old me
on more than one occasion that she felt as if she'd been with me for-
ever, and that she was tired of living in my shadow. Maybe that was
it. Maybe she had sabotaged the marriage so she could go off and
relive her lost childhood or something—one of these “delayed ado-
lescence” things. If I was right, and if that was what she had to get
through, I figured I had a very long wait ahead of me. 4
THE TWO
NICOLES
Nicole moved into the Bundy condo in late January and she liked it
just fine, but she was still pissed that I hadn't asked her to move
back into Rockingham. “I can't believe you made me buy my own
place,” she whined.
“Nicole, we've been through this. Give it time.”
“I'm just saying.”
“I know. You've been saying for a while.”
“Well, it makes me wonder,” she said. “I'm trying to be hope-
ful, but you're making it really hard.”
“It's January. We've got four months before Mother's Day. On
Mother's Day, it will be exactly one year.”
“I know,” she snapped. “Stop reminding me. I feel like I'm on
trial here.”
The move created one other problem for Nicole, aside from the
tax issue, and this one concerned her houseboy, Kato. At the
told her so. “The last thing I need is a problem with the IRS,” I said.
“But I don't understand,” she said. “I'm going to be moving
back in with you anyway.”
“I can't do it,” I said.
She was pretty angry, and for a while the good Nicole was
nowhere in evidence. Luckily I wasn't around too often, but even
when I wasn't home she somehow managed to bring her problems
to my doorstep—literally. She would come by the house with the
kids, say, to use the pool, and she took to ordering Michele around,
acting like she still lived there. Michele tolerated it, but there were
limits. One day Nicole asked to be let into my home office, which
was locked, and Michele told her she'd have to get permission from
me. “No one is allowed in Mr. Simpson's office,” she reminded her.
“It's one of his rules.”
“I'm not asking you,” Nicole said. “I'm telling you.”
“I'm sorry, Miss Nicole. I can't let you in without Mr.
Simpson's say so.”
Nicole went off on her, cursing and calling her names, then
went out to the pool and grabbed the kids and took off in a huff
She was making friends Ieft and right.
I came home for Christmas, and we focused on the kids,
spoiling them with presents. I got a few small presents of my own,
but only one of them really meant anything to me, and that was
the fact that we didn't have a single scene or a single argument in
the course of that entire week. I don't know if that qualifies as a
present, but I appreciated it, and I made a point of telling her so.
To be honest with you, when things were good like that, I always
found myself feeling bad—always found myself thinking about
the way things might have been. Nicole had given me fifteen great
years, but that Nicole hadn't been around much recently, and the
Nicole who had taken her place was not someone I knew or even
wanted to know. At that point, I was pretty much biding my time
until the year was up. And in some ways, to be honest, I was
already gone.
I remember speaking to Nicole's mother about the various
problems—the business with the housekeeper, the questionable
friends, the drugs—and she was just as concerned as I was. Unlike
me, though, she was still hopeful. “Maybe it's just a phase,” she
said. “Maybe she'll get tired of running around with those people.”
“Well, I hope so,” I said. “But I don't know. 'Whenever I try to
talk to her about it, she gets pissed off.”
“I don't think there's anything either of us can do,” she said.
“Nicole's going to have to get through this herself.”
I wasn't exactly sure what it was she was supposed to get
through, to be honest. People fail at marriage every day, and they
either find their way back or not. The question, for me, even then,
was why did we fail--where did we go wrong? Nicole had old me
on more than one occasion that she felt as if she'd been with me for-
ever, and that she was tired of living in my shadow. Maybe that was
it. Maybe she had sabotaged the marriage so she could go off and
relive her lost childhood or something—one of these “delayed ado-
lescence” things. If I was right, and if that was what she had to get
through, I figured I had a very long wait ahead of me. 4
THE TWO
NICOLES
Nicole moved into the Bundy condo in late January and she liked it
just fine, but she was still pissed that I hadn't asked her to move
back into Rockingham. “I can't believe you made me buy my own
place,” she whined.
“Nicole, we've been through this. Give it time.”
“I'm just saying.”
“I know. You've been saying for a while.”
“Well, it makes me wonder,” she said. “I'm trying to be hope-
ful, but you're making it really hard.”
“It's January. We've got four months before Mother's Day. On
Mother's Day, it will be exactly one year.”
“I know,” she snapped. “Stop reminding me. I feel like I'm on
trial here.”
The move created one other problem for Nicole, aside from the
tax issue, and this one concerned her houseboy, Kato. At the
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