Too Easy (21 page)

To her surprise, this thought doesn't make her angry.
Empty . . . dead
 . . . this sense of herself is somehow liberating. I'm dead? Then what the hell? What the bloody hell?

She stands on her tiptoes, leaning over on the basin, helping him get inside her. Hell, she's already wet. Ahh, there, he eases up into her vagina, out and more strongly back in, almost lifting her off the tile floor.

Anne makes herself look at the mirror, and stare into his eyes. Wanting to scream, Great, dear husband . . . do it a long time, just like this. Then thinking that if she said this
with feeling,
she'd start crying. Yes, she would, she's sure of it. Better to be cold, empty . . . and free.

She juts her ass out toward him, pushing back at his thrusts. She reaches back for his hands, presses the right one over her breasts, the left one on her belly. He's a large man, he seems to be all over her, in her and around her. His big left hand pushing in hard on her belly—he knows she likes this. Then the little finger hooks around under the pubic bone, and she gasps.

She stares at his mouth, realizes he's kissing her neck back and forth, licking her and slobbering all over. She can see his spit glistening on her skin.

What is it, Robert, what's going on?—she thinks as she twists in his grip. Here, sweetie, kiss my toothpaste mouth. I'm dead. There's no rules.

He finally sees she's turned and his full mouth is on her lips and his tongue goes inside her mouth and then he seems to be licking the toothpaste off her. Why wasn't it always like this, Robert? Why'd you have to learn from somebody else?

If, she almost screams in his eager mouth, you did. If that's what has happened.

The tension of not knowing, of not being sure of anything,
seems to build in her along with the sexual tension. Maybe, she thinks, it's the main thing. Her muscles vibrate with the tension of
I want to know!
She seems to tighten and tighten, faster than she can remember it ever happening before.
God Almighty ooohhhh Robert sweetheart what's happened to us?

•  •  •

She lies awake next to Robert, hearing his breathing fill the dark room. Is that the sign? she wonders. That he just grabbed me by the sink? It never happened like that before. What!—he wanted one last quickie before he injects me with something in the middle of the night? She shudders.

Yes, she thinks, it might be . . . She worries she won't be able to sleep, that she'll have to lie awake all night, waiting. Oh, God. I'm getting to be like those gunslingers in westerns. A twig snaps and my eyes jump open. This is no way to live.

Then she thinks again of what Robert did. . . . No, it's not a sign, she decides. It's part of the whole pattern. He keeps getting more reckless, that's all. Funny thing, I like it. If I didn't have the messages on the machine, I might be able to say, Oh, isn't this wonderful, my husband's more crazy about me than ever! I am so lucky.

But I do. . . .

He loves somebody else. Something is going to happen. Dear God, give me the strength. Truth is, I'm smarter than Robert. The cunning's there, I just have to sharpen it. But the strength, the bravery, that's what I'm going to need.
Me brave?
Oh, it gets better all the time.

How am I going to get any sleep? I'm so wound up, it's killing me. “Hey, Robert,” she says softly, knowing he won't hear her, “you want to do it again?”

There,
he's
tossing a little. He can't sleep either. Not peacefully. A certain intensity has crept into everything he does. That's how I know things are bad.

Anne thinks back over the last few weeks. Robert really hasn't complained much about work. Maybe in a perfunctory way, maybe as an excuse for being late, but not really. Money's okay. No medical problems. Really, what's he got to be tense about? But he is, he really is. But all this time he's doing this offhand act. Aw shucks, just us happily marrieds having a good old time.

Anne, one theory is he's planning something horrible. Give me another theory. . . .

She thinks fleetingly of one she tried to hold on to, that Robert has this girlfriend who's giving him a hard time. She's a mistake, he wants to get rid of her. What a lovely theory. But then Anne crashes again into the first message when he said,
Miss you,
and then the second one when they talked a minute. The feeling's very calm, soft, intimate. No, this Kathy is
not
giving him a hard time. Not at all. . . .

Anne shudders all over, trying to let the anxiety out of her body. Then she feels anger rise in its place. Damn it, Anne, there aren't any other theories. There's only one.

She hears Robert snoring faintly. She realizes her eyes are wide open, staring up into the dark room.

•
 “This little bar,” Kathy says. “It's where we had our second date. It was the first time you touched me.”

“Boy, what that started,” Robert says, trying to sound upbeat. He sips some of the straight bourbon on ice he's got.

“I can tell you the date. February l6th.”

“Sometimes you don't seem very sentimental. Then you do.”

“I actually am. It's more fun that way. If you keep up your end, I'll be Mrs. Mush.”

Robert grins, a little uneasily, glancing around. “I'm sorry we don't have more time.”

“I know, I
know,”
she laughs. “But how, you want to know, do you get laid?”

“Well . . .”

“Can't get enough, huh?”

“I can't.”

“Music, sweet music. Well, there
is
a phone booth back there.”

“And?”

“And
anything. . . .
I'll sit, you'll
stand up.”

“Oh, that took my breath away.”

She strokes his hands. Gives him a look that turns his skin crimson.

“Kathy, Kathy, wait a minute. While I can still think at all. . . .”

“Alright, what?”

“Alright, let's say she stays home on the 12th. It's go?”

“You tell me.”

Kathy watches him with a slight frown on her face. She tilts her head slightly, waiting, trying to smile, trying not to show disappointment.

“I just have to see this clearly,” Robert says. “I mean, that you can actually pull this off. Maybe there's no cab when you need it. Or maybe you can't get away from the office. It's a Wednesday or Thursday, for sure.”

“If I can't, I can't. I told you, I go along the road until I have to turn back. Or I'm sure and I go ahead.”

“Well,” Robert muses, “I suppose something could be done on a weekend.”

“Yes. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked a workday. It's just not what anyone would expect. And I really know I can leave a lot of false clues, all over the place, without that much trouble. I'm not even going to tell you everything. You don't need to know.”

“Really?”

“First anniversary. I'll tell you then.”

Robert stares at her, always amazed at how far ahead she thinks. He feels as if he's stumbling and lurching from one day to the next.

“Well, we've got the alibi, the codes, everything is clear. . . .” He hesitates.

“Damn it, Robie. . . . Yes or no? Stay or go?”

“What?”

They rub each other's hands, stare for a moment.

“Robie,” she sighs. “Make a decision and stick with it. . . . Be a man.”

He looks at her, sees a sadness in her face that he hates. He knows he's letting her down, not doing his half, not being as strong as she is. It torments him. “You're right,” he says with utter sincerity. “You are 100 percent right. I love you, Kathy Becker, that's all that matters. You're the most wonderful miracle I can imagine.”

“That's nice.” Now she's smiling again. She sits forward suddenly, standing partway, and kisses him on his mouth. Her hands caress his head and as she sits back, one hand presses down his chest and fleetingly touches his pants.

“Damn,” he says, angry with himself. “I'm the one who figured all the pros and cons. I got us here. . . . I'm sorry. No more bullshit. And the truth is, I have complete confidence in you. Hell,” he laughs, “you ever think about being a spy or a Green Beret, something like that?”

“Ohhh, now you're making me horny. . . . Only, darling, if you were the prize.”

“Mrs. Mush, huh? Sometimes you say the sweetest things.” He takes a loosely folded blue handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. Something solid about seven inches long wrapped inside. “What you asked . . .”

She takes the handkerchief and slips it in her purse. “Well,” she says, smiling again, “I am probably the sweetest girl you know.”

“It's true.”

“You really want to get in that phone booth, don't you?”

“No. . . . I was just pointing out the truth.”

She jerks his arms out straight, so his fists press into her breasts. “I want to,” she says sternly. “Please don't say no.”

“Well, if you're going to twist my arm.”

“That's not all.”

She's laughing as she stands up by the table and pulls him up, too.

•
 Anne wakes up a few minutes after seven. She stares with one eye at the light coming through the east window. She shifts her attention to the body behind her. Robert's breathing is low and smooth.

She focuses on her body. She doesn't feel that good. Tense and on edge. She seems to wake up very fast. She has a sense that her mind is also on edge.

She flexes her left arm against her breasts. They're tender. She remembers the way Robert hugged her the night before, as they were saying good night. He dropped his arm across her chest and when she winced, he said, “Oh, sorry. You're sensitive. You having your period?”

Did he ever say anything like that before? She thinks he might have. But the way he put his arm down on her. . . . It seemed deliberate. As if he wanted to make her wince. So that then he would have a pretext for saying, “You having your period?”

And how did she answer? “It's about here.” She thinks those were the words.

And what did he say? “Well, maybe you'll grab a sick day? Well, 'night, dear.”

Grab a sick day?
So casual. Then he drops it. He never said such a thing before, she's sure of that. The whole matter is so unpredictable, in lots of ways. Men learn to leave the subject alone. The fact is, she could never really know until the next day how she was going to feel. Robert knows that. Talking about a sick day is like talking about next week's weather. Not much point.

She knows she's on edge, probably thinking rashly and overreacting. Still, she has a powerful feeling of artifice, of furniture not being in the right place. Just what she's been watching for, tensely and carefully.

She slides slowly out of bed and goes into the bathroom. There she splashes water in her face, shakes her head, and decides,
Yes, I'll go with it.

Fifteen minutes later she's dressed. Robert hasn't woken up yet. She goes and kneels down by the side of the bed. She studies his sleeping face for a minute. Then she shakes him gently.

“ 'Morning.”

He blinks, then his eyes open wide. “Anne . . . what?”

“Wake up, sleepyhead. Listen, I don't feel so hot. I'm going to pick up a few things at the drugstore. Maybe stop by the office. Then I'll take the day off.”

Now Robert really stares at her. “Ohhhh . . . alright.”

“You'll be gone when I get back.” She leans and kisses his cheek. “Bye, sweetheart. Have a good day.”

“Oh,” he stammers, sitting up a little, “I'm sorry you're feeling bad.”

“No big deal.” She laughs briefly. “Me
too.”
She stands up, staring at him, wondering, Is this how we say good-bye forever?

“Bye,” Robert says. He waves vaguely.

She thinks there's something sad in his face? Or he just hates waking up?

“Bye, honey.”

She walks slowly away from him and out into the hall. Not feeling any better than when she woke up. Perhaps a little worse, from moving so fast. She doesn't have a choice on this. She figures she has to get out of the house quickly, leave him alone.

As she goes out the front door, she thinks: Yet another squalid little trap. And despite herself, she feels disloyal. She feels . . . evil.

She starts up the car, shaking her head in disbelief at her own feelings. Disloyal? Well, we'll see who's disloyal. I just hope it is me. Me a little bit. Instead of him a whole lot. Please, God, that's what I want. You know what I mean. . . .

Anne drives slowly and by an indirect route to a large DrugCo store. I do need a few things, she thinks. No lie there.

When she gets out of the car, she studies the sky more carefully than before. Cloudy. And it looks like the kind of overcast that will stay around. The air feels cool and damp.

Who cares? I'll be snuggled up in bed, if I want. . . .
I care.
If it's not Robert and whatever is happening there, then it's cramps and sweating. And if that's not enough, what the hell, then we get this lousy kind of weather. I won't have one reliable thought the whole day.

Go slow, sister, she tells herself as she walks to the store. I'm giving you this advice free. Go slow.

She's wondering how she'll kill an hour. Already wishing she was back home and listening to the recorder, already dreading it.

She looks at her watch, calculates the train Robert's mostly likely to catch, when he'll leave the house, whether someone in Manhattan would still be home at that time or on the way to work.