The Housewife Blues (18 page)

Jenny could not possibly be as blunt as Terry in assessing
her sexual needs, but the truth was that she had learned to like sex. She liked
it a lot, and she had been an apt pupil, especially with Darryl, the older
married man with whom she'd had an affair. The most important thing he had
taught her was that nothing was forbidden during the sex act between consenting
adults, although she admittedly liked both the fore and afterplay and a sense
of mystery and romance to go along with it.

She and Larry had sex often. It wasn't satisfying every
time, especially lately, which Larry attributed to having weighty things on his
mind. At the beginning of their relationship, they would think nothing about
having sex two or even three times a day. During the past few weeks, they
hadn't made love more than three or four times. Not that she would complain.
That would be unwomanly.

He liked her to be wanton and sometimes aggressive and had
often told her he wanted her to act like a whore when they were in bed. She
wasn't sure how a whore was supposed to act. To satisfy him, she used her
imagination, and she could tell by his reactions that he enjoyed great pleasure
through her special ministrations. Not once did he ever have a problem getting
an erection. How terrible it would be for Larry, Jenny thought, picturing him
showing off his lovely erect cock. Man's best friend, he called it. A girl's,
too, she told him often, and she was never shy with her compliments about his
equipment.

"I have no doubt we'll find the key to it
someday," Terry said, winding down the confession. To Jenny she seemed the
better for it, and the subject receded, at least verbally, as they proceeded
with the preparation of the meal.

Jenny set up the food buffet style, and they helped
themselves and brought the plates back to the table, which Jenny had set nicely
with lighted candles. She noted, too, that Larry had opened three bottles of
their best red, for which he had paid nearly fifty dollars a bottle. When
everyone had filled their plates and sat down at the table, Larry hopped up and
lavishly poured the expensive red.

"This is one great idea," Godfrey said, rolling
the spaghetti on his fork.

"You can thank Jenny," Larry said, which wasn't
the truth at all.

"You know better than that, Larry," she told him
playfully. His response was a look of extreme displeasure, which conveyed the
puzzling message that she was not to pursue the matter further. To divert
herself from observing his strange conduct, she drank deeply, deliberately not
looking in Larry's direction. For the Richardsons he played the perfect host,
refilling their glasses almost, it seemed, after every sip. She had never seen
him so alert and attentive to strangers.

"Anyway," Larry was saying, smiling broadly,
addressing himself to Terry, "Godfrey has been filling me in on the ins
and outs of the art business. I think I've persuaded him to be my agent when I
get enough cash flow to seriously collect, which is one of my major
goals." Such an objective was news to Jenny and only added to her
confusion about the dinner.

"Always ready, willing, and able," Godfrey
responded. It was clear that he had bought Larry's assurances.

"I really envision a great collection," Larry
said after he had opened yet another bottle of the expensive red and had poured
for the third or fourth time. "Our new agency, if all goes well, will
generate lots of cash flow. We expect to open our doors in about a month."

"Brave man," Terry said, her speech just slightly
thicker than it had been in the kitchen. "Start-ups being so hazardous,
especially now." She had successfully masked her anguish, although it was
obvious that she was drinking more than might be usual for her.

"It's not exactly a start-up," Larry said,
explaining, with full concentration on Terry, what he called his business plan.
"So you see," he continued, "we don't qualify for the usual
definition of start-up. We have the accounts, the creative talent to carry out
our programs. And, of course, the facilities and the management."

"What about capital?" Terry asked, still, despite
the wine, in full charge of her faculties.

"We're interviewing banks," Larry said almost
offhandedly, as if he were indifferent to the process. "Actually the
technical management side is my turf, the creative and sales, my partner's."

"Mr. Inside and Mr. Outside," Jenny blurted,
feeling the first signs of alcoholic euphoria. The slight buzz had not
interfered with her logic, since it had suddenly occurred to her what this
dinner was all about, a revelation that was remarkably sobering. The name of
the game was, as she had learned by her very cursory exposure to the
advertising business, to set up Terry for a pitch, which, with Jenny's help,
Larry had done quite efficiently.

Jenny watched as Larry bore in on Terry, whose level of
alertness seemed, oddly, to have increased with her imbibing. To Jenny, Terry's
attitude, despite her anguish and drinking, spoke aeons about her career
commitment.

"Anyone for seconds?" Jenny asked, eliciting a
menacing look from Larry.

"They'll take it if they want it," Larry
grumbled.

"I've got to save something for dessert," Terry
said. Larry shook his head and shot Jenny a look of exasperation. She knew why,
of course. She had interrupted his pitch.

"Basically," she heard Larry say, "we're
looking for a revolving line, say three hundred thou to begin with. Signatures,
naturally. Interest only for the first year. One point above prime, max. Of
course later, if we're both happy, we'd expect prime."

Terry nodded and was silent for a while.

"Compensating balances?" she asked.

Jenny had the urge to find out what that meant and began to
speak.

"What are..." she began, swiveling her gaze
toward Larry. He shot her a vicious look, and she beat a hasty retreat,
although she exchanged glances with Godfrey, who appeared to be frowning, as if
he didn't approve of Larry's attitude.

"Not off the bat," Larry replied with a shrug.

"Tough deal," Terry said, shaking her head. She
held out her glass for Larry to pour.

"I'll see about the dessert," Jenny said.

"Dammit, Jenny!" Larry erupted. "We're
trying to talk important stuff here."

"Dessert
is
important," Jenny snapped,
getting up.

"Need any help, Jenny?" Terry said, starting to
stand.

"She'll be fine," Larry said, patting Terry's
hand. "No need," he told her, smiling. She sat down again.

"Let me," Godfrey said, getting up.

"Really, Godfrey," Jenny protested, but mildly.

"We'll let these two do their tap dance," Godfrey
said.

"Homemade apple pie á la mode coming up," Jenny
cried, forcing herself to be cheerful. "Vanilla or strawberry,
folks?"

"Strawberry," Terry piped.

"Anything," Larry muttered, scowling at her.
"You pick it."

She went into the kitchen. Godfrey followed her.

"You scoop, I'll slice," Jenny said.

She busied herself with cutting pieces of pie while Godfrey
scooped the requested flavors out of the boxes. She noted that he had scooped
up a ball of vanilla for himself. As he did so, he seemed to be studying her
intensely.

"Is he always that uptight?" Godfrey asked.

"I guess the pressure's getting to him," she
replied.

"Pressure. Yeah. I know what you mean. He should be
thankful. He's a lucky man to have such a pretty young wife."

Bells went off in her head. Was he coming on to her, being
flirtatious or just friendly? Then she remembered what Terry had mentioned
about his problem, which made her more curious than uncomfortable.

"And you're a lucky guy to have a girl like
Terry," she said.

"Yes, I am," he said in agreement, "but that
doesn't prevent me from admiring beautiful, sexy women."

"I thank you for the compliment, kind sir," she
said, moving back into the dining room. Larry and Terry were still absorbed in
their conversation. They barely looked up when she and Godfrey sat down.

"There's room for talk," Larry said, obviously
having recovered his momentum and now launching yet another assault of
salesmanship and charm. "We admit to being aggressive and highly creative
and wanting to do business with banks and other entities, with people who are
winners. People like yourself, Terry. People with brains and savvy. Watch our
dust. We've already expanded our client base, and we won't be in business for a
month yet."

"I assume you've got personal statements," Terry
interjected.

"Of course. Mine and my partner's," Larry said.
"We've got a detailed package of papers that will pass any loan committee.
Believe me, the risk will be minimal, and we'll grow into terrific customers
for any bank. The day of the super ad agency is numbered. We're specialists and
perfectly positioned in the right place at the right time, just after an industry
shakeout."

Jenny and Godfrey ate their desserts silently, exchanging
glances occasionally while Larry and Terry pursued their business discussion.
Noting that she and Godfrey had finished theirs, Jenny collected the empty
plates and went back into the kitchen.

At that moment the inside door buzzer rang.

"Would you get that, Larry?" Jenny called from
the kitchen, pretending that she was too busy to answer it. She wanted to break
up their conversation.

"Can't even have a quiet dinner at home," Larry grouched,
shaking his head. He got up from the table and flung open the door. "Oh,
Christ. Not again," he muttered.

It was Jerry O'Hara from downstairs, looking harassed and
apologetic as he always did when looking for his cat.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt—"

"No cat here. Just us folks," Larry muttered,
beginning to close the door in Jerry's face.

"Thank you, but you see—"

"Why don't you chain him to a pipe or something?"
Larry snapped. "This is getting ridiculous."

"Chain Peter?" The man looked aghast.

"Or worse," Larry said. He turned to the Richardsons. "You see his damned cat?"

"Afraid not," Terry said without rancor.

"Have you tried the Sterns?" Godfrey volunteered.

"Actually, Teddy Stern is out combing the
neighborhood. Peter is such a bad boy."

"Yes. Such a bad, bad boy," Larry mocked, moving
his arm, the wrist deliberately limp.

"I know it's a nuisance and I apologize for that, but
he does mean a lot to us."

"Considering all the trouble he causes," Larry
sneered, "you might consider sending him off to the glue factory." He
looked to the others, obviously hoping for laughter. None came.

"I can see you're not a cat person, Mr. Burns."

"Well then, there's nothing wrong with your
eyes."

"Not at all," O'Hara snapped, sucking in a deep
breath and turning away. Larry pushed the door shut with a slam.

"Damned fairies and their fucking cat," Larry
said sourly, going back to the table.

"Here we are," Jenny said, hiding her own disgust
at his conduct. She marched in with a tray filled with little cakes, cookies, a
coffeepot, and cups and saucers. Larry was having difficulty hiding his
exasperation.

Shaking his head and shooting Jenny still another
disgruntled look, Larry got up from the table and took a sheaf of papers from
the breakfront drawer and laid them in front of Terry. He moved her pie á la
mode dish to give the paper more room. Then he pushed aside his own plate with
what Jenny thought was a note of dismissal, rejecting the dessert as a kind of
punishment aimed at her.

"It's a pro forma," Larry said, trying with some
success to regain his poise. "And I know how bankers view pro
formas." Terry studied the papers as she ate.

"Coffee, anyone?" Jenny trilled.

"I'll have a cup," Terry said, her attention
diverted.

Jenny poured out a cup for Terry.

"And I'll have one," Godfrey said. He seemed to
have entered Jenny's little game of interruption.

"If you have any questions—" Larry began.

"Cream or sugar, Terry?" Jenny asked.

Peripherally she could see Larry's features tighten with
exasperation, but she deliberately kept her eyes averted from his.

"Just black, thank you," Terry replied.

"But I'll have cream," Godfrey said.

She poured the cream into his coffee. Terry concentrated on
reading the pro forma while Larry peered over her shoulder.

"Coffee, Larry?"

"Just pour it, Jenny."

"Cookies, anyone?" Jenny asked.

"Jenny, dammit," Larry said, making an obvious
effort to hold his temper. "Can't you just leave us alone for a
moment?"

"Good idea," Godfrey said. "Let's take our
coffee into the living room while these tycoons mull over their millions."

"They won't miss us," Jenny said. It was her turn
now to shoot Larry a nasty look. He was too absorbed to notice.

"So how's the art business?" Jenny asked when
they were seated side by side on the living room couch.

"Lousy." Godfrey shrugged, sipping his coffee.

"Boom and bust," she said, smiling. "What
goes down comes up and vice versa."

"So I'm told," he responded gloomily. He looked
toward the dining room, where Larry and Terry were intent in their discussion.
Then he turned toward Jenny and studied her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"When I first saw you, I thought you were still in
your teens." He laughed. "Curly mop. Small. Like—"

"Little Orphan Annie."

"You said it, not me."

"It's part of my charm. One of my old boyfriends used
to call me his Lolita." She had thought suddenly of Darryl. "Lots of
guys think there's something vulnerable about small women. When I was a kid, I
hated to be smaller. Actually I'm not that short. Five two."

"And well made," he said, averting his eyes in
embarrassment as he finished off the coffee. His obvious interest in her
aroused her curiosity still further. Was this a man with a dead libido?