The Housewife Blues (2 page)

"Everywhere but New York, Jenny. Trust me."

Why would he say that? she had wondered, especially after
saying, "Trust no one." She put the idea quickly out of her mind. He
didn't, of course, mean himself.

She hoped he wouldn't be too hard-nosed about the
apartment. It was beautiful. Just what she had imagined living in Manhattan would be like. Surely he felt the same way. Then why was he bargaining so hard?
It surprised her, too, that the grandmotherly Mrs. Bradshaw didn't bat an eye
at Larry's statement about the price being "outrageous."

"Out of range of your financial ability or out of line
pricewise?" Mrs. Bradshaw asked. She had taken off her half-glasses and
was distributing her gaze between Larry and Jenny.

"There is a clear line between fair and gouging, Mrs.
Bradshaw. If I couldn't afford it, I wouldn't be wasting my time. And
yours," Larry said smugly, shaking his head. Jenny wished she hadn't heard
his remarks.

"What do you think, Mrs. Burns?" Mrs. Bradshaw
said, turning to Jenny.

"Me?"

Jenny was startled at the question and looked quickly at
Larry, who blinked his eyes in a kind of signal for her to stay out of it.

"Get real, Mrs. Bradshaw," Larry said, shrugging,
turning his body as if it were a gesture of total rejection. Jenny felt her
pulse throb with anxiety. Larry took a folded paper from his inside jacket
pocket and unfolded it, then waved it in front of Mrs. Bradshaw. "I've got
the comparable rental values in the area."

"You can't compare apples to pears, Mr. Burns,"
Mrs. Bradshaw countered. The cute little crinkly laugh lines had smoothed out,
and her lips were tight as she waited for a response. When none was
forthcoming, she said: "This place has charm, personality. Anyone can see
it's one of a kind." She looked at Jenny, her eyes boring in. "Surely
you can see that, Mrs. Burns."

Jenny shifted her eyes quickly to Larry, who was now
assuming a pose of bored indifference.

"I'd say two thousand a month tops," Larry said
casually, without apparent interest. Jenny felt a sinking feeling in her
stomach. He couldn't. She loved this place and was already visualizing how she
would decorate it. And that wonderful bathtub!

Mrs. Bradshaw started to arrange the papers in her hand and
opened the clasp of the large pocketbook that hung from her shoulder as if she,
too, were drawing the negotiation to a close.

"I don't know if I can show you anything better. Sorry
about that," Mrs. Bradshaw said, snapping the clasp of her pocketbook with
much fanfare. They had seen enough apartments to confirm that observation.
Jenny knew that the woman was right, and she was finding it difficult to hide
her disappointment.

"We're sorry, too," Larry said with indifference.

Jenny wondered if he really believed that. She supposed he
was right about the price being high. That was his department. He had told her
never to concern herself about money, only about properly managing her own
allowance, which he would decide upon when they got their apartment. At the
moment, Larry was providing her with pocket money "as needed."

Not that she was totally ignorant about managing money. In
the past ten years, she had actually saved nearly twenty thousand dollars from
her earnings in various jobs. Larry had complimented her on that and had
insisted that that money be kept in her own name even after they had married.
His gesture was somewhat confusing since her view of marriage meant that
everything was to be shared between them forever and ever. She supposed that
this was meant by him to be a gesture of generosity, although in her own mind
the money was considered shared assets.

In Manhattan, Jenny had found, money had an entirely
different meaning. Back in Indiana even two thousand a month was a king's
ransom. This was nearly double her entire monthly take-home pay when she'd
worked as an assistant to Dr. Parker. And even after paying her rent, food, and
other necessities, she had enough left over for entertainment and savings.

The three of them now headed for the apartment door. Jenny
was crestfallen, but still hopeful. Although she was uncomfortable about
Larry's tactics, she had full confidence that he knew what he was doing.

After they reached the street, Mrs. Bradshaw turned to
them.

"If you really want this place," she told them,
addressing herself mostly to Jenny, "I could make a call."

"Suit yourself," Larry said, looking at Jenny
sternly. "At the right price it might be considered."

Mrs. Bradshaw's gaze lingered on Jenny's face. Jenny hoped
she was registering indifference properly.

"Yes," Jenny said. "At the right
price." She noted Larry's quick glance of approval.

They walked to the corner, where there was a telephone
booth. Mrs. Bradshaw picked up the phone and dialed.

"God, Larry. I can't stand it. I really love this
apartment," Jenny whispered.

"Easy. You're her target of opportunity," he
said. "Show her nothing. No interest. You had me worried for minute."

"My stomach is doing flip-flops."

"Stay cool. Remember this is the Big Apple, the
hustler's paradise. Our top price is twenty-five. She'll come back at maybe
twenty-seven."

"I can't stand it."

"Trust me," he said, preparing his face for Mrs.
Bradshaw's return. It was a blustery day, but that did not deter people from
being on the streets. In fact, nothing deterred New Yorkers in anything, Jenny
thought. People looked so determined and intense, although she had observed
that they scowled a great deal and did not smile often.

"Best we can do is twenty-seven, Mr. Burns," Mrs.
Bradshaw said. Jenny noted that the woman's grandmotherly aspect was completely
gone. "Frankly, I think that's very generous."

"Not in this market," Larry said. "The
vacancy rate is staggering."

"I could call again," Mrs. Bradshaw said.

"Okay then. Here's my bottom line. Twenty-five with
the first month free and a three-year lease with an option for another three at
a five-percent yearly rise."

Jenny's level of anxiety soared. She couldn't bear to watch
Mrs. Bradshaw's face.

"Really, Mr. Burns..."

"Make the call, then," Larry said.

"It won't do any good," Mrs. Bradshaw said,
shrugging.

"Try," Larry said.

Mrs. Bradshaw hesitated for a moment, then, shaking her
head, went back to the phone.

"I could never do this," Jenny confided when Mrs.
Bradshaw was out of earshot.

"Worry not, Jenny. She's a whore. All real estate
people are whores. And the biggest whores are in New York."

"She seems so nice."

"'Nice.' That's a dangerous word in this town, Jenny.
Nice is okay in Indiana. Not here. Get 'nice' out of your vocabulary while
you're in this town."

Mrs. Bradshaw finished her call and came back to them.

"Twenty-five it is. Two-year lease with option.
Six-percent-a-year rise for two-year renewal." She smiled, her crinkly
lines back in place, and held out her hand. "Deal?"

Jenny's heart was in her mouth.

"I wanted three years," Larry said.

"Leave us some dignity, Mr. Burns." Mrs. Bradshaw
winked. "Our pants are down."

He turned suddenly to Jenny.

"What do you think, baby?"

"Me?" Jenny searched his face. His eyes signaled
that it was okay. She hesitated, then turned toward Mrs. Bradshaw. "I say
deal," she said with mock assertiveness.

"The little woman has spoken," Larry said,
putting out his hand. Mrs. Bradshaw took it and pumped.

"Now let's all get a cup of coffee and do the
paperwork," Mrs. Bradshaw said.

"Masterly," she told Larry later as they lay in
bed in their hotel room. They had made love the rest of the day, and she had
been gratefully aggressive.

"You've got to know how to play the game," he
said as she cuddled in the crook of his arm. She stroked his hard, muscular
body, so well proportioned and sculpted by his regimen of pumping iron three
times a week along with his daily jogging schedule.

"I married a very smart cookie," she whispered.

"Here in New York, you've got to base everything on
the premise that the next guy is out to screw you. You want to make it here,
you've got to learn survival skills. That goes for every human transaction.
Every move you make has to be defensive. Watch your ass. They're out to do you.
And, above all, never show your ruthlessness, unless you're ready to act on it.
That's why I'm up there in the agency, not just some dumb numbers cruncher. And
I've just begun to fight."

"Gives me the shivers," Jenny said, cuddling
closer, her fingers following the contours of his naked body from forehead to
penis.

"In this town never, ever take anything at face
value," Larry continued. "People are never what they seem."

"That will take some getting used to," Jenny
said.

"Just do it fast," Larry said, turning toward
her.

"Some things work better slower," Jenny said,
giggling, as she continued to caress his body. She was so happy. Nothing but
nothing was too good for her Larry.

She had met him nearly a year ago when he came into Dr.
Parker's office with a nasty gash on his arm that required some stitches.
Apparently he had tripped on a rock while investigating possible sites in the
area for a theme park that was being researched by the advertising agency.

She had assisted Dr. Parker in the procedure. In fact, she
had actually done the stitching, since it was one of those mornings when Dr.
Parker's arthritis was acting up. For a year after high school, she had taken
courses at the Bedford Hospital preparatory to becoming a paramedic, where she
had learned a number of emergency procedures. But then the job with old Dr.
Parker had come along, and she'd decided to forgo the complete course,
reasoning that it would be a good opportunity to be "on her own," get
her own place, and not be a financial burden on her parents.

"Handy little helper," Larry had commented. She
wore a white uniform and white stockings, and Dr. Parker called her
"nurse." He told her often that she was "better than any
graduate nurse," which flattered her enormously. In addition to his
arthritis, Dr. Parker's eyes were failing and he relied on her to assist him to
an extent that might have seemed borderline to the Medical Society of Indiana.

"Couldn't do without her," Dr. Parker had
responded.

Jenny remembered that she had blushed beet red, not simply
because of the compliment, which was well deserved, but because it was
delivered in front of this handsome young man who had stirred in her a
disturbing response to his presence. She sensed, too, that there might be a
mutuality about it.

After he had dressed, he had lingered in the reception area
and engaged Jenny in conversation between her answering the doctor's telephone
calls.

"Didn't hurt a bit," he had told her.

"We aim to please, Mr. Burns."

"Do you do this often?" he had asked.
"Stitching up the wounded?"

"Only on occasion," she had replied, compelled to
be truthful as a point of sincerity. "I'm not really a nurse. More like a
paramedical jack-of-all-trades."

She could tell he was interested, and by then she was dead
certain that she was attracted to him. He was so handsome and confident and
immaculately dressed in beige pants and blazer with a crisp striped shirt with
tab collar and a wonderful perfectly matched tie. He seemed so worldly and
sophisticated, so in charge of himself, and above all, so different from most
of the men she had dated in Bedford.

"Maybe you can tell me about Bedford over lunch?"
he had asked.

After a brief hesitation for propriety's sake, she'd
consented. But she would always remember the thought that had passed through
her mind at just that moment: There must be a God, because he just dropped this
beautiful man from heaven right on my doorstep.

Attraction was a mysterious and magical thing and, almost
always, unpredictable. She knew her own type, which was that category of woman
whom people referred to as the "small packages" the "best things
come in." Not that she was that small—five feet two—but well proportioned
for her height, too small to win a beauty contest, but with the kind of figure
that could and did turn a male eye. So far, heavy exercise was not a necessity,
and no matter what she ate she never gained a pound. Her blue eyes dictated her
colors, and she dressed to complement them.

In school she was considered perky, the type that made a
natural cheerleader. Her mother had pressed her to pursue that phase of her
school career, even sending her to baton-twirling lessons. As a baton-twirling
cheerleader, she was automatically a kind of local celebrity. Fame of that type
was very sought after in a small town like Bedford, mostly because that kind of
visibility gave one entrée to date the best boys, meaning the local athletic
heroes.

Despite being popular and visible in high school, she was
also a conformer and definitely not a rebel, which meant, in that context, that
she maintained a monogamous relationship with one boyfriend with whom she had
sex, beginning around her sixteenth birthday, which seemed the obligatory age
when one lost one's virginity in Bedford. The experience, as most of the girls
agreed, was generally awful but was supposed to get better with time. She had
looked forward to that with toleration and hope.

She had never had any plans other than to get married, have
children, and stay in Bedford to raise her family as her mother and grandmother
and great-grandmother had done before her.

Her mother had instilled in her the idea that when all was
said and done, being a housewife and mother was the noblest profession a woman
could aspire to. Nor did she envy any of her schoolmates who went on to
college, determined to make it in the world at large. She knew, of course, that
such an attitude was old-fashioned and totally contrary to the ideas fostered
by the women's movement, but she saw herself as more of a traditionalist and
felt no guilt about her well-defined ambition to run a happy home, have a
loving husband, and raise two, maybe three children. She considered that a
noble aspiration.