The Housewife Blues (25 page)

"Are you our new landlord?"

"Not quite," he said. "You see, I flipped
the contract."

She had no idea what he was talking about, and apparently
her expression showed it.

"That's when you find a buyer who is willing to pay
more for the building than your contract calls for," he explained.

"And you did?"

"Yes," he said proudly, studying her reaction.
She could sense his pride and felt happy for him. "We won't settle for
another month, but I expect to make a nice profit."

"How absolutely wonderful."

"And," he said, pausing, focusing on her face as
if ready to take a snapshot of her reaction, "I'm going to give you double
your investment. That's nearly forty thousand dollars. You'll get a check when
we settle."

"My God, Mr. Stern. Have you lost your mind?"

"Maybe so, Mrs. Burns, but you helped me find my life
again. Mrs. Stern has stopped working. Doctor has prescribed lots of bed rest,
and he's preparing her for a bypass in a few months. After that we're going to
move to a place in the suburbs, let Teddy go to a public school."

"Sounds great, but really, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do. That's the point. I do. It's very important
to me. They say virtue is its own reward, but charity and kindness have a
market value. That I now can understand."

"But—"

"No, I'm not finished. There's Teddy."

"Teddy!" Oh, my God, Jenny thought. He didn't
tell his father about that!

"I now can resume my normal tolerance for gays and, of
course, all other minorities. It may seem hypocritical and selfish, but I was
looking forward to grandchildren. Also, I no longer mind one whit about Teddy's
friendship with the folks downstairs."

She remained silent, waiting with some trepidation for the
punch line.

"I think he's showing a healthy interest in females.
It sounds bizarre, I know, but I've found a slew of girlie magazines under his
bed, and he's told me he has a girlfriend, although I haven't seen her yet. Now
I've got other worries, but I think I can deal with them."

"That's certainly a bonus for you, Mr. Stern."
She was relieved that he hadn't thanked her for stimulating Teddy's knowledge
of his own sexuality.

He finished his coffee, stood up, and put out his hand.
"I've always been a kind of a hustler, Mrs. Burns," Mr. Stern said.
"And I probably will continue to be. But, you know, it makes me feel good
to see that you've sort of helped me stake out a piece of myself that can still
be called relatively pure. You understand what I'm saying?"

"I think so," Jenny responded, suddenly
remembering another of her mother's trite little homilies: Do good and it will
come back tenfold.

Mr. Stern started toward the door, paused, and turned.
"If that Senator Springer recovers and gets reelected, he'll owe you a
debt of gratitude as well, Mrs. Burns."

She started to respond, but he waved her silent with the
palm of his hand. His knowledge surprised her.

"I've known about it for quite a while. Nearly sold
the information to the tabloids."

"You wouldn't."

"More like I couldn't, Mrs. Burns. Shows that
somewhere deep inside there was some good stuff."

"That's it, Mr. Stern. There's good stuff in all of
us."

"You're a regular Joan of Arc, Mrs. Burns."

"Not by choice, Mr. Stern. Not by choice."

"She didn't have one, either," he said
cryptically.

When he left, Jenny tried to absorb all the events of the
morning. Myrna had given her a sable coat that she had no use for, and Mr.
Stern was promising to return double the value of her loan. It was all so
confusing. And this business with Larry. Well, at least she hadn't become like
him, paranoid, manipulative, distrusting, and defensive. Could such attitudes
be reversed? Could Larry's faith in people be restored? Certainly she could not
go through life with a man who thought of human beings as the enemy? She needed
to find answers to these questions, to think about them long and hard.

Taking a leisurely hot bath seemed the only obvious course
of action. She needed to reflect, to sort things out. She sprinkled her
favorite bubble bath into the tub, then ran the water, adjusting the
temperature to her satisfaction. When things got overly complicated, she could
always look forward to a lovely warm soak.

While the water ran she decided she needed to hear her
mother's voice. In a few short months her conversations with her mother had
taken on a purely informational aspect, as if she were getting news from a
foreign correspondent covering another planet. This conversation was no exception,
but it was pleasant and reassuring to hear her mother's voice and listen to her
comforting platitudes.

As usual, her mother ran down the happenings dealing with
her immediate family, her father, brother, his wife, their children, the
neighbors, and the usual hometown catalog of vital statistics. But the
reportage was taking on more and more of an air of sentimental nostalgia, of a
past life. She felt far removed from events and people being discussed.

"No housewife blues, Jenny?"

"None, Mom."

That phase, Jenny decided, was long over. Indeed, she found
herself listening as she might listen to music. It was pleasant, familiar,
comfortable, but, for her, uninvolving. In a few months she seemed to have made
a very long journey to that place where the concept of home had become more of
a comfortable and sentimental myth than reality.

"I love you, Mom," she said when the conversation
had run its course. Of course, that. Always that. "And my love to Dad and
everyone."

"And I love you, Jenny."

Comforted, Jenny removed her clothes and slipped slowly
into the tub. It took her some time to get used to the water temperature. Steam
clouds floated upward lazily. Immersed completely, she felt her buttocks and
lower back slide over the warm porcelain.

Yet something in the feel of the surface didn't seem quite
right. There was a kind of debris that interfered with the smoothness of it. In
a number of places where her flesh touched the porcelain she felt an odd
grating sensation, like pinpricks. Searching for the source of the discomfort,
she felt with her hand along the surface. With her fingers, she grasped what
seemed like a piece of wire and brought it up to the surface, where she
inspected it.

At first she thought it was a curl of pubic hair, but on
closer study it had a coarser feel, like a snip of thin wire. She reached down
again, slid her hand along the surface until she found another, then another.
These, too, had the same wiry feel as the others. It didn't surprise her that
she hadn't noticed them when the tub was empty. They were thin strands, coarse
but thinner than human hair.

The steam inhibited a more thorough inspection of the
objects. She remembered that yesterday morning she had heard Larry run himself
a bath. It had been out of character for him. He hated baths. Then, she
remembered, she had heard him run the shower and had assumed that he had
rejected the bath and opted for his usual mode of cleansing.

But that would not have accounted for the little wiry
strands of hair. What could they be? She rose from the bathtub and held the
pieces up to the light above the medicine chest, rolling them between her thumb
and forefinger. They had a kind of rusty color, and they had the feel of hair,
but not really. They could not possibly belong to Larry. Rust, slightly orange
under the light. If not Larry's, then whose? And yet they seemed vaguely
familiar.

"Oh, my God!" she screamed.

She felt her insides congeal and a terrible nausea begin
deep inside of her. Then she bent over the sink and vomited.

WHEN she got out of bed Monday morning, Larry had already
left. She had heard him come in late Sunday night and, feigning sleep, managed
to avoid any verbal or, for that matter, physical contact with him. Although
she hadn't slept much, she had spent the night reviewing her present situation
and reaching conclusions that would govern the near future. If everything in
life was a learning experience, which was what she truly believed, then she was
certainly eligible for a degree in higher education.

As she lay in bed, she found herself listening to the
normal life of the building. She knew every sound by heart, and it was
reassuring to be part of this familiar world. Teddy bounding off to school. Mr.
Stern, resurrected now, off on his daily rounds. The Richardsons back from their
brief vacation. She heard Terry clumping down the stairs, then Godfrey's
familiar tread. Mrs. Stern, she knew, was no longer working and was probably
also in bed at this very moment. There was some irony in that. Until the Sterns
moved to the suburbs, Jenny would not be the only tenant at home in the
building on a weekday. Myrna was in London by now. And Bob and Jerry, both with
heavy hearts and a gnawing sense of anxiety and loss, would be off to their
respective jobs.

Everyone in his or her proper place. "And all's right
with the world," she said aloud, knowing, perhaps for the first time,
where that myth ended and reality began.

She spent the greater portion of the day with her usual
Monday household chores. She polished the floors, vacuumed the carpeting,
dusted the furniture, changed the bedding, puffed the pillows, and, coping with
the dry heaves but with great care, scoured the bathtub. That completed, she
concentrated on a special chore that she had saved for last. By midafternoon
she had finished the job.

The disposition of Myrna's coat occupied her mind for a
time. She wondered if Myrna's assessment of any future with Senator Springer
was correct. Only time would tell. How that situation turned out would
determine the fate of the coat, which she had hung in her bedroom closet.

She went out during the afternoon, but not to do any food
shopping. What she did do was go to a pet store to make certain inquiries, then
she bought a newspaper and learned that Senator Springer was making an
excellent recovery and would soon be able to face the press.

There was still some talk about the mysterious
circumstances of his collapse, but it seemed to take a backseat to the basic
issue of whether or not his health would preclude his running. His doctors
assured the public that his condition was not serious enough to abort his
political career. She wondered if they were telling the truth.

She was not sure exactly what time Larry would storm into
the apartment, but she was fully prepared for the confrontation. She sat in the
living room and waited, her mind empty of all distracting thoughts.

He arrived late in the afternoon. Through the front window
she could see the lengthening shadows of early sunset. It was mid-September,
and the leaves of the sycamore tree were almost fully turned to orange. Some
had even floated to the ground.

He came into the living room, his face ashen, his eyes
beady with anger, his lips curled downward in what was, she supposed, the exact
opposite of a smile.

"Well, you did it this time," he said. She had
turned over in her mind his various opening lines. It was reassuring to know
that this had been one of them.

"Did what?" she said calmly, offering what she
hoped was an innocent expression, wide-eyed, smiling benignly. Her hands were
clasped on her lap, like an obedient schoolgirl.

"You blew the loan," he croaked. "Screwed me
to the wall. How come you didn't tell me about that withdrawal?"

"Oh, that."

"All you can say, is it? We've made commitments. We've
moved into our offices. We've already sent out press releases, and you blew the
loan. It's more than just an embarrassment. Vince and Connie are fit to be tied
and threatening to bail out. It's a disaster."

"You'll get another loan, Larry. You're a very
resourceful man."

"And you are an idiot of a woman. A stupid lamebrained
dumb-ass without a brain in your head. If I were you, I'd buy a one-way ticket
back to Bedford. You haven't got the brains for the big city. What I bought
when I got you was a fantasy."

"So were you," she said, but not without a tug of
sadness. The fantasy, after all, had been wonderful and comforting.

He stood over her, menacing, his face red with anger and
frustration. Then he turned away, and she calmly watched him pace the room.
Suddenly he stopped and waved a finger at her face.

"You were a mistake, Jenny. A fourteen-karat
mistake."

"That much," Jenny said.

"A housewife was all you were good for. I knew that
from the beginning. I thought that's what I wanted. The little woman waiting at
home to greet me with an apron, a smile, and a willing pussy. Damn, what a
mistake that was. Thinking it was possible. I can't understand why I brought
you into the business aspect of things. I was embarrassed in front of Vince and
Connie, showing them what a dumb little bitch I married."

She listened patiently, having heard his words in her mind
earlier, waiting for the moment, the right moment, the perfect moment.

"You're all ball busters, you and all the fucking
sisterhood. And us poor guys are caught in the middle, between a rock and a hard
place. You all want more than you can get. Not that any sane man can figure out
what the hell you all want."

It didn't take much effort to maintain her silence. What
was the point? Perhaps there was some truth in his point of view. His truth.
Not hers.

"Do you know what that bitch upstairs accused me of?
Forgery. Can you imagine that? All I did was sign your name. My wife's name. Is
that forgery, I ask you? And you..." He turned to her again. Foaming
spittle hung in the edges of his mouth. "Since when do I need to have
permission to sign my wife's name?" He raised his arm in the direction of
the ceiling. "You bitches are in league against us." He was a man
obsessed, tormented. But she felt no compassion. It seemed the time. Now, she
told herself.

"You killed Peter. Drowned him in our bathtub."

He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. If there
was any hint of denial, it disappeared quickly.

"So what?" he said when he had recovered from the
first shock.

"It was disgusting," she said, feeling the cap on
her own anger loosen.

"It was only a cat, for chrissake. Besides, the damned
thing was a pain in the ass."

"To you. Not to Bob and Jerry. They loved Peter. He
was part of their lives. You can't go around arbitrarily hurting people. Not to
mention the taking of a life."

"Oh, fuck," Larry said. "He had eight
more." He chuckled at his little joke.

When she didn't laugh, he shook his head. "I told you
not to get involved in other people's lives. Who cares about those fags
downstairs, their fucking feelings? No law says I can't drown that little
bastard. And that Davis bitch upstairs. And those goddamned Richardsons. People
are out for what they can get out of you. And you're too fucking stupid to see
it."

"If you're the norm, God help us all," she said,
more with resignation than anger.

He squared his shoulders and looked at her with contempt.
"You don't like it, go on back to jerkwater Bedford. Who needs you around
here?"

She paused, watching him, gathering her thoughts, hoping
she could say what needed saying without a tremor in her voice.

"I think you've got things a bit confused,
Larry," she said. "This is my home. I'm the homemaker, remember? I
made this home, and I'm staying. It's you who are leaving."

He had been pacing again. Now he stopped abruptly, his face
beet red. A nerve palpitated in his jaw.

"You dare..." he began.

She stood up and studied him. Whatever had motivated her to
marry him was gone. She felt nothing, not even an emptiness where his love had
been. He had become the enemy.

"Yes, I dare," she said.

"You won't last a week without me," he sneered.
"You'll be an alien here. They don't teach street smarts in Bedford, and what marketable skills have you got? You weren't even a nurse, just a
glorified receptionist. That's minimum wage stuff in this city. You're a
goddamned dependent. You'll always be one. Couple of months you'll be screaming
for me to get you out of here, ship you back home."

He stopped pacing, stood directly in front of her,
searching her face, as if looking for agreement with his assessment of her and
her chances.

"I've packed your things, Larry, like the good little
housewife you wanted. Everything. Even your electric toothbrush. As soon as
you're settled I'll send you your weights and any other possessions I deem
personal."

"You've got to be joking," he sneered.
"You..."

"Me, the little woman. Get out of my house."

"Your house?" He laughed, but it was hollow, more
like a cackle. "You lousy little bitch," he cried. "I paid for
everything in this place."

"We, Larry. We paid for it. And I earned the right to
keep it."

"We'll see about that!" he shouted. He turned
away from her, and when he faced her again he had adopted a completely
different expression, as if he were trying to conjure up haughtiness and
ridicule, complete with a patently false smile.

"You've got to be kidding yourself, Jenny. This is the
Big Apple and you're just a stupid hick. You want a fight? I'll give you one.
Except there's no contest. Face it, kiddo, you haven't got a pot or a window to
throw it out of. You can't even afford the rent on this place. If I were you,
I'd reconsider. Pack up and I'll take you to the bus stop. Would you like some
time to think it over?"

"Speaking of packing, you'll find your packed
suitcases in the hall closet. All you have to do is leave." She looked at
her wrist-watch. "I estimate you can do it in less than ten minutes."

"Ten?" he shouted. "I can do it in
five."

She turned away to look out the window. Dusk now settled
over the streets. Angry sounds floated through the apartment as Larry noisily
hustled his suitcases out of the hall closet.

"We'll see who gets the last laugh!" he shouted.

She heard the door slam and looked at her watch. He was
right. He had made it in five minutes. She breathed a sigh of relief. Yet it
did trouble her, not that he had gone, but because she felt no remorse.

After a while she looked out the window. There was no sign
of him. Apparently he had quickly gotten a cab and gone to God knew where. She
didn't care. It didn't matter. Not anymore. She walked through the apartment.
Yes, she thought, this is my home. Except for the weights in the bedroom, his
presence in it was swiftly disappearing.

It was already dark when she arrived at the pet store and
picked up her purchase, a cute little tabby kitten with approximately the same
markings as Peter's. She walked the few blocks back to the apartment building,
descending the little flight of stairs to the doorway of Bob and Jerry's
apartment. Before she could press the buzzer, the door opened. Jerry and Bob
stood before her, startled.

"We were just going out," Jerry said.

"Look what I've got for you," she said, holding
out the little tabby.

"Oh, my God!" Jerry squealed with pleasure,
taking the kitten and stroking its head. Then he held it up with two hands and
looked at it. "A he."

"He's beautiful," Bob said. "But
why?..."

"Why not?" she said awkwardly. "He needs a
home."

"And we've got a vacancy," Jerry said, cuddling
the kitten.

The three of them exchanged glances. She nodded, sensing
the silent understanding among them. They knew, she decided. There was no point
in belaboring the unspeakable.

"Speaking for both of us," Jerry said, shooting a
look at Bob, who nodded. "Well, we're overwhelmed and very, very grateful.
We might never have had the courage to find a replacement for Peter. But a
gift. That's something special."

"I hope he has a little less of a wanderlust,"
Jenny said.

"We're not going to have him fixed, no matter
what," Bob said.

"Absolutely not," Jerry agreed.

"He can visit me anytime," Jenny said, clearing
her throat of a sudden hoarseness. "I'm single again and can use some
company now and again."

Jerry and Bob exchanged shocked glances. Then they both
smiled broadly.

"Not to be missed," Jerry said.

Bob nodded agreement.

"Anyway, have a great evening," Jenny said. She
started up the steps, stopped, then looked down at them.

"My door is always open to friends and
neighbors," she said with a smile, then turned and let herself in the
front door.

In her apartment again, she felt calm and happy, but,
mostly, free. Feeling a pang of hunger, she sensed an urge to perform some act
in honor of her independence. She opened the Yellow Pages, looked for a nearby
pizza carryout, and punched in the number.

"Plenty of onions and anchovies," she told the
man who took her order. For the first time since she'd arrived in New York, she felt completely in control of her own destiny. Tomorrow, she decided, she
would confront her future. Not today. Today was for savoring the present. She
deserved a hot bubble bath, and after all, the bathtub itself was merely an
innocent device and deserved to be used for what it was intended.

But before she could draw the water, the apartment door
buzzed. It was Terry.

"Is he here?" she asked.

"Gone."

"For good?" Frown lines deepened Terry's forehead.

"I hope so."

"I was afraid of that." Terry sighed. "He
said lots of unkind things about you. And me."