The Housewife Blues (13 page)

"Nice," Myrna said with an air of someone who
hadn't quite expected what she saw.

"Thank you," Jenny said as if she had been
anointed. The approval further sparked her courage. "I was just having
some coffee. Would you like some?"

"That would be wonderful," Myrna said, drawing
out the "won" in wonderful as if she were being offered vintage
champagne. The acceptance surprised Jenny, since it was obvious that Myrna was
dressed and ready to pursue her day, which from the look of her seemed to
promise marvelous and exciting events. Why waste time with little me? Jenny
thought, instantly hating her own reaction.

She went into the kitchen to get the coffee, intending to
prepare a nice tray and bring it into the living room. But Myrna followed her
into the kitchen.

"What a wonderful place," Myrna said, again
emphasizing the "won" in wonderful. "You must love to
cook."

"I do," Jenny said, pulling two mugs from a shelf
and placing them on the kitchen island. She poured the coffee into the mugs.
Myrna took hers, and her nostrils twitched as she inhaled the aroma.
"Nothing like freshly ground coffee."

"It's a great blend. We get it at Zabar's."

"Don't you just love that place?" Myrna said,
almost girlish in her enthusiasm, as if the ultrasophistication of her dress
and attitude were only a contrived pose for business purposes.

"It's, it's wonderful," Jenny said, trying to
extend the "won" but stopping midway, feeling suddenly uncomfortable
and clumsy with the affectation.

"How I envy you," Myrna said, shaking her head as
if in admiration.

"Me?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"Being a wife." Myrna paused, studying Jenny.
"I've never been," she said with obvious regret. "Oh, I've been
married. Twice, actually. But I wasn't a wife either time. There's a
difference." She trained her eyes on Jenny. "Now you. There's a
contentment about you. I noticed it the first time I saw you."

Jenny sipped her coffee and shrugged. She hadn't thought of
herself as merely content, which had a passive connotation about it. But Myrna
would not give her any time for reflection.

"Sometimes we women out in the so-called big bad world
can't see the forest for the trees," Myrna continued. She put her hand on
her chest. "Hell, in my business we push the idea that the competing,
upwardly mobile, ball-busting woman offers the best of all possible lives for
our gender. We design our pitch so that housewives are portrayed as the drones
of the female sex, slave to man's whims, put-upon, unrewarded, lesser beings.
And we do it deliberately." She paused, looked at Jenny, then winked.
"Make 'em insecure and they'll swallow anything."

"In a way you sound like Larry," Jenny said.
"He's a vice-president in charge of research for Payne and Magruder."
She put a deliberate emphasis on the name of the advertising agency.

Registering the name, Myrna nodded in acknowledgment,
widening her eyes as if impressed. "Then, surely, he knows whereof I
speak."

"Actually we've never discussed it."

She inspected Jenny's face. "I guess you wouldn't. Why
bring such slop into your lives? For him this place has to be an oasis, free of
the grit, a refuge from the madding crowd." She took a deep sip of her
coffee.

"Little things like a good cup of coffee can make your
heart sing," Myrna said.

"I'm glad you like it," Jenny said, hoping that
Myrna was sincere. There was no way she could tell. Sophisticated women like
Myrna were so articulate and worldly that it was hard to read them. Not like us
ordinary mortals, she told herself as if to satirize her own sense of
inferiority in the presence of such a queenly creature. Again she found herself
resenting her own attitude. Why does this woman make me feel this way? she
asked herself.

"Here I am babbling away and I've not even broached
the object of my visit." Jenny noticed that Myrna took a quick, furtive
look at the face of the kitchen clock. "I need your help on a matter of
great delicacy." Jenny didn't reply, wondering what possible favor Myrna
needed that required such an elaborate buildup. "All I need from you is
your willingness to accept a package for me."

"Is that all?"

Suddenly Jenny remembered Larry's displeasure at her
acceptance of the shoes from Bloomie's. In fairness, Jenny thought, she had
portrayed Myrna as ungrateful and unfriendly.

"No, that isn't quite all, Jenny," Myrna said,
her glance roaming everywhere but directly into Jenny's eyes.

Jenny was genuinely puzzled. On the surface it seemed like
a simple request. Then why was Myrna being hesitant and obviously
uncomfortable?

"The package will come in your name," Myrna said,
lowering her voice to what was a distinctly conspiratorial tone.

"My name?"

"I mean it will be addressed to you, but it will
really be for me." Jenny started to respond, but Myrna cut her off
abruptly. "It's nothing illegal, just something ... well ... for me."
Myrna winked. "Oh, all right ... it's a gift from an admirer who wants to
keep a secret that it's from him. Am I making myself clear here? It seems that
I'm doing this rather badly."

"No. I think I understand." Jenny wasn't
completely certain that she did, but the favor itself seemed simple. "It
comes to me in my name and I bring it upstairs to you."

"It's just a wee bit more convoluted than that,"
Myrna said. "Oh, nothing really complicated. I'm being silly about it. It
will probably arrive here sometime tomorrow or Friday. The thing is ... well
... it should be brought upstairs on Saturday. Say noon, if that's no trouble.
Just ring the buzzer and leave the package against the door."

"It doesn't seem to be very complicated," Jenny
said, wondering why Myrna was making such a fuss but determining that to pry
further would cross the line between respecting privacy and nosiness. Aside
from the favor being asked of her, it was really none of her business. Not that
she could totally dismiss normal human curiosity. Myrna had said that this was
a gift of some sort from a secret lover. Obviously, Jenny reasoned, that lover
was the person with whom she spent her weekends. It didn't take a genius to
figure that the man was very married and ultracautious.

Which brought her to another point about this situation.
Did Myrna think that Jenny was too much of a hick to understand such matters?
She remembered her own brief affair with a married, albeit separated, man, but
the same conditions of extreme discretion, even secrecy, had existed. There she
was overreacting again. The fact was that there was an air of exciting
complicity about Myrna's proposal. A dollop of rebellion as well, since she was
certain that Larry, if he were to find out, would object to the arrangement.

"I'll be eternally grateful, Jenny," Myrna
pressed, perhaps reading in Jenny a sudden note of caution.

"No need for that, Myrna," Jenny said. "It's
just a small favor between neighbors."

The statement seemed to relieve Myrna, and when she looked
at Jenny her eyes were not roving anymore. "Above all, Jenny, I knew you
were the kind of person I could truly trust. People sense things. I knew it
instantly." Again she lowered her voice. "The truth is, Jenny, you're
the only person in this building I believe I can trust. Maybe anywhere,
including at the office." Speaking that last phrase, her voice had drifted
away, as if she hadn't meant to say it.

"Just good midwestern stock," Jenny said, half
joking but nevertheless proud of Myrna's attesting to her trust. She knew she
was, above all, trustworthy. Such a trait was inbred, the very heart of her
family's value system. At last something truly neighborly was occurring.
Inspecting Myrna's face, Jenny decided that beneath all the so-called
sophistication was a sincere, vulnerable person reaching out for trust and
friendship.

"Believe me, Jenny, there is nothing untoward about
it. Nothing out of line. Nothing you'll regret later. Not drugs or stolen goods
or anything like that." Myrna seemed to be rambling onward, unable to
stop, as if she were on the verge of making a clean breast of it, a confession.
"If you have any questions. Any at all..."

"Why should I have any questions?" Jenny said.
"It seems like a totally straightforward request. I accept the package and
bring it up to you Saturday at around noon. Not exactly like a spy
mystery." Jenny laughed suddenly. "Or is it?"

"I hadn't thought about it in that way," Myrna
mused. "Maybe you have something there. All this mysterious subterfuge
must have you baffled."

Again Jenny sensed that Myrna wished to explain things
further, perhaps bare her soul.

"I'll do my job, neighbor," Jenny said, offering
a version of a military salute and, she hoped, a happy smile.

"Of course you will," Myrna said. Again her
glance started to roam and she pressed her upper teeth against her lower lip,
as if she were contemplating a subject not yet addressed. "I hope you
don't think I'm going too far." It appeared to be a prologue to something
more that she wanted to say, and Jenny held her silence, waiting. Whatever it
was, it seemed to be a subject requiring great, perhaps agonizing, reflection
on Myrna's part. "I'm not sure I should ask you this. I mean you've been
great so far...."

"I've always found it better to say what's on your
mind," Jenny said, repeating something her parents might have said, which
experience had taught her was not always realistic.

"Well then, here goes," Myrna said, shaking her
head, as if what she was about to say were against her better judgment.
"Do you think we can keep it, you know, in the sisterhood?"

Jenny must have frowned or otherwise revealed some gesture
of uncertainty. If that was so, it was an involuntary act. It did, however,
require some mulling over. She was being asked to break a kind of bond between
her and Larry.

At first blush such a proposal suggested betrayal, and her
first reaction was indignation. Then it occurred to her that such an attitude
was motivated by Myrna's asking, not the truth of the situation.

Actually she had kept a number of things hidden from Larry,
deliberately. Take the case of Teddy. Where was it written that every incident,
every detail, every private thought, had to be communicated to one's spouse?
Suddenly she was indignant at her own indignation. Certainly he, too, kept
things hidden, which was appropriate to all human beings. Absolute honesty
could be a form of nakedness and, therefore, discomfort.

"This is between us. You and me," Jenny said.
"Only us."

"I'd better quit while I'm ahead," Myrna said.
Again she started for the door, and again she turned to face Jenny.
"Someday I'll explain all this."

"Really, it's not necessary."

Myrna's eyes glistened with tears as she concentrated her
gaze on Jenny. "Tennessee Williams had it right. At one time or another we
all have to depend on the kindness of strangers." Then she turned and went
out the door, closing it softly behind her.

VINCENT MAZZO wore a wrinkled beige jacket, matching pants,
and a black silk shirt, all amply cut in what Jenny supposed was the cutting
edge of style in men's clothes. She had seen such outfits on television, and
they'd always looked to her as if they needed a good pressing before they were
carted over to the Salvation Army clothing drive. On his feet, Vincent wore
black lizard loafers and no socks.

With his dark curly hair and what looked like a few days'
growth of beard, he was hardly the kind of man she envisioned to run an
advertising agency. At first she had wondered why he hadn't shaved, suspecting
that he had some temporary skin condition. It was only halfway through their
first drink that she discovered after some scrutiny that the beard was
obviously trimmed on a regular basis. This was apparently the look the man
wanted. To Jenny he simply appeared rumpled and dirty.

His deep-set eyes had a feral look, and his hawk nose, low
forehead, and thick lips completed the picture of a very intense man. He did
not smile often, and when he did the corners of his lips barely lifted.

His wife, Connie, a tall brunette, was wearing tight black
jeans that looked as if they had been painted on her sleek body and a colorful
and obviously expensive silk blouse. Around her neck she wore a gold chain that
threaded through a teardrop ruby pendant. Although her long hair covered her
ears, Jenny was sure she wore matching ruby earrings and that sometime during
the evening they would be treated to a glimpse of them by some errant and
deliberate movement of her fingers through her hair.

On her feet she wore black tooled leather cowboy boots, the
bottoms of her jeans tucked into the stems of the boots. Her large brown eyes
peered over knobby cheekbones. On meeting her, Jenny was instantly intimidated.
The woman gave off an air of awesome self-confidence that hung over her thicker
than the scent of her expensive perfume.

Jenny wore a long Laura Ashley dress that was supposed to
be a surprise, and she deliberately hadn't previewed it for Larry on the
grounds that this dinner was to illustrate how capable she could be on her own.
It was something of a shock to discover that her dress was totally out of sync
with her guests' outfits. Larry's quick glance of disapproval confirmed to her
that somehow she had committed an unpardonable gaffe.

Larry had very appropriately worn his blue double-breasted
blazer with the brass buttons over a button-down white shirt and blue striped
tie. His pants were pearl gray knife-creased flannels. Larry had an instinct
for always presenting himself in exactly the correct way, the conservative
counterpoint to his more trendy partner.

The two couples, Jenny noted, seemed a pairing of
opposites, at least on the surface. She cautioned herself to reserve judgment
as she passed around a plate of hors d'oeuvres while Larry took their drink
orders. Vincent asked for a Campari and soda, and Connie opted for vodka and
water with a squeezed lime. Larry poured two white wines, one for him and one
for Jenny.

She had set the table with a centerpiece of flowers and her
best dishes and silverware, researching the pattern in which it should be set
with three specimens of stemware, one for water, one for the wine, which was
white and had been carefully chosen by Larry, and one fluted glass for
champagne. A fork and spoon for dessert were set at right angles to the other
silverware just above the plates.

"Not bad," Larry had commented when he had seen
the finished setting. She was proud of his approval, since it was she who had
decided what food to serve.

"Just stay out of my kitchen," she had warned
when he came home from the office. "I've been working at it all day."
Which, indeed, she had been, using Julia Child's recipes for the fettuccine
Alfredo and the chicken Kiev. She did allow that he was to signal her when it
was appropriate for her to begin dinner.

"What an absolutely charming pad," Connie had
commented when she'd inspected the apartment. Vincent nodded his head in
agreement. Almost immediately Larry spirited him off to his den, while Jenny
and Connie chatted in the living room. Jenny assumed Larry had done this
deliberately, although she wished that he had waited until she had finished her
first glass of wine. Jenny felt her pulse pounding in her neck. The woman
seemed so sophisticated and superior.

"I understand you're from Indiana," Connie said,
raking her fingers through her hair. There they were, Jenny noted, the matching
ruby earrings.

"Ever been?"

"Never. But one of my law partners is from Illinois. Talks with a twang like you. I love those out-of-town accents. Vinnie and I are
sort of dyed-in-the-wool New Yorkers. I doubt we'll ever leave Manhattan even when the kids are ready for school. No need. Everything you ever want is
right here in this city."

Connie had crossed the room and had been looking out of the
window into the street. Suddenly she turned to face Jenny. "Bet it's been
somewhat of a culture shock. You'll get used to it." Jenny felt the
woman's eyes inspecting her as if she were a piece of meat in the butcher shop.

"I'm trying," Jenny said, sipping her wine.

"Of course it's got grime and crime. You've just got
to know how to walk through the mine fields."

"Larry is teaching me."

"Too many fucking people and not enough resources.
Handout city, I call it. But it's still the center of the universe with all the
shit." She paused and continued her inspection.

"What do you do?"

"Me?"

Jenny had, of course, been prepared for the inevitable
question, but not the way in which Connie delivered it, as if she were throwing
down a gauntlet. Jenny was not happy with her initial response. Of course me,
she thought. Who else?

"Where do you work?" Connie pressed.

"Right here," Jenny said, trying to put a spin of
humor on her answer. "For the moment, I'm just a little old
housewife." She resented having to add the phrase
for the moment
as
if it implied something temporary.

"Doesn't it bore the shit out of you?" Connie
asked.

"Not at all," Jenny replied.

"Wait'll you have kids. We've got two. You'll kill to
get out of the house."

"Well, we're not there yet," Jenny said.

"You're young yet. Why rush it?"

Jenny shrugged, knowing that Connie's interrogation would
continue.

"What did you do in Indiana?" Connie asked.

"I was..." She hesitated. She wanted to say
"a nurse" but could not bring herself to lie outright. "I worked
in a doctor's office." Might as well put this behind us, she thought.

"Did you?"

Jenny could sense the woman's retreat, like a lawyer saying
"No more questions, Your Honor." There, you have the full picture,
Jenny told the woman silently, feeling the full weight of her intimidation.

"Anyway," Connie said, as if it were an
expression of dismissal, "this is one helluva move for all of us."

"Yes, I suppose it is," Jenny said, almost
relieved that they had reached the heart of the matter between them.

"Tough racket, advertising. Dog eat dog. Frankly, I've
encouraged Vincent to make this break. No percentage in being a flunky to
another man's ego. Seize the day, I always say. Hell, Vince developed the
accounts, and from what he tells me, your Larry is one helluva shrewd
executive. Really organized. Someone to look after the details. Vince stinks
with details. He's more the creative type. Perfect team, don't you think?"

"Mr. Inside and Mr. Outside," Jenny said, hoping
to fake her knowledge of the situation.

"Vincent agonized over it for months," Connie
went on. "Couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat." She lowered her voice.
"A little withdrawn in other departments as well, if you get my drift.
Finally I couldn't take it anymore. Fuck ethics, I told him. You're in
advertising, for chrissake. There's no ethics in advertising. It's all
kissy-ass at the top. And the product is simply bullshitting the public, making
them buy things they don't need." She paused suddenly. Obviously this new
business venture was the paramount question among the four of them. It was also
apparent that Connie knew a lot more about what was happening than Jenny, which
put Jenny at a distinct disadvantage. "Takes a lot of balls to do what our
guys are doing, don't you think?"

The question took Jenny by surprise. "It does take
courage."

"It'll leave Payne and Magruder with their pants down.
I'd love to see their faces. They'll wake up one morning and see half their business
gone south. And the good personnel will go with Vince and Larry. That's the way
new agencies get started. Steal the business. Maybe 'steal' is too harsh a
word. Let's say 'transfer.' All that noncompete legal shit won't stand up in
court anyhow. And how do you like the new offices? Of course they haven't
signed the lease yet. Why pay the extra month with D day August first? Clever
the way they've kept it under wraps. Don't you think?"

Larry had mentioned office space. And that other?
Noncompete? What did that mean? Her lack of information and knowledge made her
tongue-tied. It crossed her mind that perhaps the woman was aware of her
ignorance and might be flaunting her knowledge. In response, all she could do
was to sip her drink, nod, and try to keep her expression from revealing the
extent of her ignorance.

"Do you like the proposed logo?" Connie asked.

"Logo?"

"I'm not too keen on the way they looped the
z
's.
Also the colors don't seem right. What do you think?"

"Maybe so..."

"I hate beige," Connie muttered. "Plain
white stationery is always appropriate."

Jenny felt that she had been deliberately set adrift on
some unknown sea. But she had recovered enough to feel the first faint bubbles
of anger rise in her chest. Somehow all this information provided by Connie,
once the initial shock had been absorbed, seemed to touch her innate sense of
unfairness.

She felt genuinely abused, deliberately left out. Not just
kept in the dark, but left out, isolated. All right, she told herself. Business
is his turf. House is mine. But this woman knew everything that was happening
with the new business, and she, Jenny, knew nothing. Less than nothing. To make
matters worse, she did not approve of the idea that they were going to start a
business by stealing accounts from their employer. It was against her
principles, her values.

Anger seemed to speed her recovery and lessen Connie's aura
of intimidation. To deflect the conversation, Jenny took Connie's near-empty
glass and her own and interrupted the men's conversation in the den.

"If you're going to play bartender," she told
Larry with a forced smile, "then you've got to watch the ladies'
glasses."

"Sorry, Jenny," Larry said. He got up and went to
the shelf that served as the bar, and Vince followed her into the living room.

"Larry's talked to Barbara Hawkins," Vince said.
"She's ready to jump ship."

"Is that wise?" Connie asked. "She could be
a fourteen-karat bitch."

"She knows where the bodies are buried," Vince
countered.

"Especially her own," Connie said. "Most of
the bodies have been buried in her." She looked toward Jenny and winked.

"I'm inclined to go along, Connie," Vince said.
He looked toward Jenny, who had never even heard of Barbara Hawkins. Then he
turned away and shrugged as if he were still uncertain about the decision.
Jenny wasn't sure whether her expression gave away her ignorance. Controlling
her anger, she refused to show them her lack of knowledge. Fortunately Larry
arrived with their drinks.

"I think we can trust Barbara," Larry said,
handing the women their drinks. "But I do have a queasy feeling about Sam
Shuster." Another name Jenny had never heard. "He's an asshole,"
Larry continued. "He'd be the first one to run with an account."

"If we gave him the chance," Vince said.

"But he's a talented asshole," Connie
interrupted, her eyes shifting to Jenny as if she were looking for alliance.
Jenny nodded stupidly, then turned to Larry, who seemed to look right through
her.

"I wouldn't approach him until the very last
minute," Larry said.

"He may be an asshole, but he's nobody's fool. He
confronted me yesterday, said he heard rumors."

"Screw rumors," Connie said, again casting an eye
toward Jenny. Was she expected to comment? She wasn't sure. But she sensed that
there was only one course of action for her at that moment. Besides, there was
no point in waiting for Larry's signal, which might never come, and totally
ruining her dinner.

"I'd better see to dinner," she said.

In the kitchen she forced her concentration to the task at
hand, but she did feel, if not ignored, then certainly, as she had heard Larry
say on occasion, out of the loop.

She spooned the fettuccine Alfredo onto plates, then
checked to be sure that the chicken Kiev, the sauce, asparagus, and potatoes au
gratin would be ready with assembly-line precision. She had timed everything
carefully so that one dish would follow another and she would be able to play
the dual role of hostess-cook. Now she wasn't so sure that she was needed as
hostess. She uncorked the wine, which had cooled in the refrigerator, poured
herself a long draft into a tumbler and drank it down in one gulp, then went
into the dining room and placed the plates of fettuccine Alfredo on the table.

"Soup's on," she called to the others, who were
still locked in conversation. When no one stirred she called again in what she
thought was her most ingratiating tone. "Dinner is ready." Again they
didn't respond. "It'll get cold," she said, raising her voice to
match the level of her frustration.

"In a minute," Larry snapped.

The three of them appeared to be intensely involved in some
momentous decision. She could hear them mentioning names and subject matter
that she had never heard before.