The Housewife Blues (21 page)

"I knew you'd be happy," he said, pouring them
more wine, although she had hardly touched hers. "And when they come,
we'll stay in Manhattan. Maybe we'll make enough to afford a town house. No
bland 'burbs for us. No way."

She only half listened to his words as he spun out various
scenarios about their future, her future, which only emphasized the extent of
her powerlessness. It puzzled her how she had come to this state. Perhaps when
and if they had children, it might free her from this vague sense of—what was
it?—exile. From what?

It was the events of the day, she decided, a kind of
overload. Her mother might call it one of her spells. That was it. She was
having a spell and was, quite successfully, keeping it hidden from Larry, who
continued to talk. She watched his lips move, heard his voice, but it all
sounded unclear, like someone talking underwater.

But she knew from experience that all she had to do was nod
and smile and appear to be listening. She would never, she realized now, ever
be called upon to comment on her day, as if those events were too trivial,
taken for granted. Today I did all the things you despise and worse, she spoke
inside herself.

When the meal was finished, Jenny got up to clear the
table, surprised suddenly by Larry's volunteering to assist her. He never
helped with the dishes. That was her job, and although she continued to smile
benignly, she felt an odd sense of resentment, as if he were usurping her
prerogatives.

"No need, Larry," she told him as he scraped
plates and piled them on top of each other.

"Why not? I want to."

Before she could find the energy to protest further, he was
carrying dishes into the kitchen, rinsing them under the faucet, and putting
them in the dishwasher. As he stood in front of the sink, she realized that
beside it was the bag in which the chicken had been wrapped. Clearly printed in
large letters was the name of the store: "The Grillery." It was
impossible for him to miss.

If he saw it—and she was certain he had—he made no comment.
She wondered if she had lied to him or simply allowed him to make the
assumption that she had cooked the dinner herself. In his mind, even that would
be considered a lie. She debated whether or not to bring the issue into the
open.

Before she could make up her mind, he had finished the
dishes and turned toward her.

"Well now," he said. "Let's put the topper
on the celebration."

Reaching out, he gathered her in his arms and began the
inevitable prelude, and soon they were in the bedroom and she was struggling to
climb into the character of the whore, which was the role he had assigned to
her from the beginning. It was difficult, but she knew she had to somehow get
past showing any indifference. After all, it was his right, wasn't it? And she
knew quite well the little ticks and sounds that conveyed ecstasy. When her
body didn't react on cue, she helped things along by playacting. Apparently it
convinced him of her interest. Now, she thought, she was lying on every level.

"You see?" he said when they lay back, after
their lovemaking was over. "We're made for each other."

She did not nod until he turned to face her on the bed and
repeated the question with an added kicker. "Aren't we?" She was dead
certain that he was totally convinced of this.

FOR the next week, Larry left the apartment early and came
home late. He explained to Jenny that he was busy planning the offices with Vince
and, as he put it, putting the new agency "on the launching pad."

Actually she welcomed the respite, although she remained
dutiful in performing her household chores. For her own dinners she ordered
various carryout dishes from places in the neighborhood. One night she ordered
pizza, another Chinese food, another sandwiches, another chicken from the
Grillery.

Although she was always careful to eliminate any signs of
the carryout packages, she did revel in the delicious defiance of his wishes.
He would come home late, tumble into bed exhausted, and usually be gone before
she woke up.

Whatever communication passed between them during the
following week usually revolved around the new business, and most of her
inquiries were answered with what she could tell were deliberate deflections.
Despite his often-voiced promise, he offered little concrete information about
his new venture. Somehow she sensed that it was not going as well as expected.
Apparently they had not yet opened the new offices, nor had they, as yet, left
the agency.

"What about Terry's loan?" she asked.

"Still in the works. It's not her loan, but
Citibank's."

"It seems to be taking a great deal of time."

"It'll come through by next week. Terry has
promised."

"Sounds good."

She did feel duty-bound to try to lighten his burden. He
was, indeed, working very hard, for which she was sympathetic, despite her
feelings about the ethics of the way he was intending to set up shop. Also, he
seemed to be making a great effort to hide his concerns.

Above all, he is my husband, she told herself. And I am his
helpmate in sickness and in health, till death do us part. She had begun to
wonder why these vows needed constant reiteration. Admittedly, doubts about her
future were troubling her. Worse, she could not find a single soul to whom she
could voice her misgivings.

Telephone talks with her mother were becoming more and more
platitudinous, although Jenny could not completely hide her concerns.

"You should be very happy that Larry has the gumption
and ambition to want to be a success," her mother had told her during a
phone call during that week.

"I am," Jenny agreed.

"So what's the problem?"

"It's ... well ... the method. Actually, he and
another colleague at the agency are taking accounts from their present agency
to set up their own business."

"You've lost me, Jenny. I have no head for that sort
of thing."

"It's just not right," Jenny said.

"It's not like he was a gangster or anything, is
it?"

"Nothing like that, Mother."

"Larry isn't breaking the law?"

"No."

"Look, darling. You're living in a big city, where
there are sharp practices. I'm sure that Larry knows what he's doing. It seems
to me that you've got a great opportunity there. Dad and I are so happy for
you."

"Sure, Mom, everything is wonderful," Jenny said
without conviction.

There was a brief pause as her mother mulled over Jenny's
downbeat tone.

"As long as Larry loves you, Jenny. You should not
bother your head about things you know nothing about. You're a newlywed in a
strange city. Perfectly natural to feel ... well, considering you're a
small-town girl ... different. Big-city people just think differently, is all.
You just concentrate on making a wonderful home for Larry and everything will
be fine, just fine."

Jenny listened patiently. It was the same drumbeat of
hopefulness and good tidings that she had heard all of her life. Suddenly she
smiled.

"I love you, Mom."

"And I love you, Jenny. Above all, Dad and I want to
see you happy."

"I know, Mom."

"You know what it is...."

"I know." She had wanted to waylay it but wasn't
fast enough.

"The housewife blues. Remember Gramma's poem."

"I know, Mom." There was no way to intercept it
now. She listened as her mother's voice recited the family litany.

"The heart of a home is a loving
wife
Who protects it always from trouble and strife
Her sacred role is to love and to care
Always to nurture and forever to share
As helpmate or more, she can never lose
Unless she surrenders to the housewife blues."

Jenny sighed. "Thank you, Mom."

"It's something we all need to hear every once in a
while," her mother said.

Repetitive it was, but the conversation, her mother's
loving voice, even the corny little poem, did provide a kind of subliminal
reassurance that might have triggered some reassessment of her attitude. Did
she really have the right to be holier than thou about business practices in
the advertising industry? Of course, that wasn't the only source of her
dissatisfaction. Was it? Finally, with a great effort of will, she did manage
to put aside all troubling thoughts and focus on the necessity to be Larry's
support system in this time of trial. For better or for worse, she told
herself, once again invoking her sense of wifely responsibilities as outlined
in her mother's poem.

Surely his love for her was true, as her mother had assured
her. And her love for him? Were emotions, like life itself, always constant?
Judging from her own experience, they weren't. Like everything else, even
emotions and desires had their ups and downs.

Late Thursday evening she was awakened by the sound of
voices coming from the street, familiar voices. Knowing Larry would be late,
she had slipped into bed early and had fallen into a deep sleep.

Jumping out of bed, she moved in the direction of the
sounds, which took her to the living room. Through the window, in the light of
the street lamp, she saw Larry having a heated discussion with Jerry. After
opening the casement window, she stuck her head out and listened.

"I don't give a flying fuck about your goddamned
cat," Larry was saying. Obviously Jerry had caught Larry at the wrong time
and place and had become a target for his pent-up frustrations.

"You don't have to be so rude," Jerry said in a
high-pitched whine.

"I'll be as rude as I want, you fucking—"

"Homophobic, felinaphobic. What a hateful person you
are, Mr. Burns."

At that point Larry grabbed a handful of Jerry's shirt and
might have punched him if she hadn't intervened.

"Larry. Stop it!" she shouted.

Both men looked up at her, obviously startled by her sudden
appearance in the opening of the casement window. After a moment's hesitation,
Larry let go of Jerry's shirt.

"It's not my fault, Mrs. Burns," Jerry said.

"Everything's fine, Jenny," Larry said calmly.
"I blew up." He turned to Jerry. "I'm sorry. It's just—"

"Never mind," Jerry said, hurrying back to his
apartment.

"No problem, Jenny," Larry said. "All I
needed was that cat tonight."

"Just come on up, Larry. I'll make you a cup of hot
chocolate."

He nodded, and she watched as he came up the stone steps to
the entrance.

"Never mind the hot chocolate," he said as he
came through the apartment door.

"Is there something—"

"In the morning, okay?"

She followed him into the bedroom and sat on the bed as he
roamed around.

"What is it, Larry?" she asked as he undressed.
For the past week he had not been working out or lifting weights. She suspected
that he was also not jogging to work. Nor had he shown much interest in sex. In
fact, he seemed depressed, a far cry from the euphoria of the week before.

"I said tomorrow, Jenny." He put on his pajamas
and crawled in next to her, turning his back, his message clear.

When she awoke Friday morning, she had a sensation of
disorientation. Larry was running a bath. She couldn't believe it. He hated
baths. She thought about it for a few moments, then dismissed it from her mind.
If he wanted to take a bath, that was okay with her.

She tried going back to sleep but could manage only a
halfhearted drowse. Then she heard another, more familiar sound. Larry was
taking a shower. She assumed that he had opted for a bath, tried it, rejected
it, then resumed his normal routine. Again she tried to sleep. She heard the
bathroom door open, then Larry padding in his bare feet to other parts of the
apartment. Perhaps he is making himself some coffee, she thought, annoyed at
her own sensitivity to details, like her preoccupation with those sounds the
neighbors made.

Perhaps she should rise and make his coffee, she wondered.
But he was back in the bedroom before she could get out of bed. Watching him
dress, she noted that his fatigue of the evening before seemed to have
disappeared. He seemed a lot calmer.

"Hi," he said cheerily, smiling.

"Well, here we have Mr. Merry Sunshine."

"I was tired as hell last night. Pressure gets to you,
I'm afraid. You expect things to go smoothly, only it never happens. I guess I
was just getting too impatient."

"Impatience builds up frustrations," Jenny said,
hoping she was offering him sound analysis.

"It's the loan. It's still not in place," he
muttered.

"But I thought—"

"You know what a bureaucracy is like. Has to go up the
line. Then Terry was out sick for a couple of days." The fertility clinic,
Jenny thought, recalling the incident with Godfrey, noting in herself not the
slightest vestige of guilt. Apparently she hadn't been paying much attention to
the comings and goings in the building during the past week.

"Then that accounts for the delay," Jenny said.

"Everything's in place, we just haven't been able to
expedite things."

"Have you been in touch with her?"

"Really, Jenny," he said, his mood changing. He
was tightening his tie, watching her face in the mirror.

"I was just asking," she said, pouting.

"I know. I'm sorry," he said, turning to face
her. "It's frustrating, especially since we did sign the lease on the
office space. In a way you might say the clock is running." He forced a
smile.

She was silent for a long while as he put the finishing
touches to his grooming. She was happy to see that his preoccupation with
business problems hadn't affected his fastidiousness.

"Would you like me to talk to her? Tonight, maybe?
When she comes home?"

"No way," he shot back, startling her.

"But the other night—"

"I can't seem to make you understand. That was
business. The connection was made. Any personal involvement now could only
hurt."

"I was just trying to help." She sighed, not
quite understanding. Helpmate, remember? she rebuked him silently. He moved
toward her and sat beside her on the bed. She could tell he was going to be
patronizing, offering her one of his lectures.

"Must I repeat the stuff about the dangers of personal
involvement with the neighbors? Our dinner, while it seemed personal, was, in
the end, a business thing. Terry sensed it quickly and got into the spirit of
the thing. I'm not saying that it doesn't have an apparent undercurrent of
neighborliness and friendship. But it's not the way it is in good old Bedford, Indiana. The fact is that she and I are now both using each other for our mutual
benefit. A good loan gives her brownie points with her bosses, and, of course, we
need the money, and as we grow, our account with the bank grows. Get it? One
hand washes the other." He paused, bent over, and kissed her on the
forehead. "A way of life, Jenny. Moreover, if you get too personal, you
might say something that would have a negative impact."

"You think I would say something that might harm the
business relationship?" she asked. She believed that was what he meant,
and it was irritating.

"Of course not," he said. "Not
deliberately."

"Like what?" she wondered aloud.

He looked down, shook his head, and smiled, obviously
holding his temper, which only made him seem more patronizing.

"Like..." He shrugged. "I could come home
and mention that we were having a temporary spat with a client's
representative. Could be a perfectly innocuous comment and have no real effect
on the account...."

"And I would say something dumb like 'Larry and Client
X were having a to-do,' and she would think from that remark that the loan was
in trouble. Right?"

"You got it," he said, standing up. "You see,
it's not really that hard to understand."

She supposed she should argue the point, but it seemed
futile. Confronted with her silence, Larry bent over and kissed her on the
forehead.

"It will all come out in the wash," he said.
"You'll see. Nothing for you to fret over. Actually, I think I might be
hearing from her today. Maybe we'll have something to celebrate over the
weekend."

"Be nice," she said without conviction.

"I'll call you if I hear. In any event, I'll be real
late tonight. Going over stuff again with Vince. Lots more to setting this up
than I thought."

She stayed in bed and listened as he moved through the
apartment and let himself out. Confronting Larry's logic was getting
increasingly frustrating, and it took enormous willpower to abort any further
reflection.

Terry rang her buzzer just as Jenny sat down in the kitchen
for a cup of coffee. It was late, nearly eleven. To avoid thinking about Larry
and their problems, she had gone back to sleep. Turning these things over in
her mind endlessly was debilitating. Sleep was a wonderful escape.

Finding Terry at her door was surprising. Jenny hadn't
heard her usually clumpy high-heeled walk on the stairs. For good reason: Terry
was wearing sneakers. She had on a pink jogging outfit. Remembering her talk
with Larry that morning, Jenny felt uncomfortable and hoped that she would not
bring up the subject of the loan.