Wheels (7 page)

And he had, doing the same thing
next day, and on other mornings after that, so they had drifted into the
present pattern, though it depressed Erica to know she was no longer
useful to Adam at the beginning of his day, that her imaginative breakfast
menus, the cheerfully set table and her own presence there, were more
irritating to him than pleasing.
Erica found Adam's diminishing concern about what went on at home, along
with total dedication to his job, more and more an aggravating
combination nowadays. He was also tediously considerate. When his alarm
clock sounded, Adam snapped it off promptly before it could penetrate
Erica's sleep too deeply, and got out of bed at once, though it seemed
not long ago that they had reached for each other instinctively on
waking, and sometimes coupled quickly, finding that each could bring the
other, feverishly, to a swifter climax than at night. Then, while Erica
still lay, lingering for a moment breathlessly, her heart beating hard,
Adam would whisper as he slipped from her and from the bed, 'What better
way to start a day
.”

But not any more. Never in the morning, and only rarely, now, at night.
And in the mornings, for all the contact they had, they might as well
be strangers. Adam awakened quickly, performed his swift routines, and
then was gone.
This morning, when Erica heard Adam moving around in the bathroom and
downstairs, she considered changing the routine and joining him. Then
she reminded herself that all he wanted was to move fast-like the go-go
cars his Product Planning team conceived; the latest, the soon-to
be-unveiled Orion-and be on his way. Also, with his damned efficiency, Adam could make breakfast just as speedily as
Erica-for a half-dozen people if necessary, as he sometimes had. Despite
this, she debated getting up, and was still debating when she heard Adam's
car start, and leave. Then it was too late.
Where have all the flowers gone? Where the love, the life, the vanished
idyll of Adam and Erica Trenton,
young lovers not so long ago? Oh where,
oh where!
Erica slept.
When she awakened it was midmorning, and a watery autumn sun was
slanting in through slats of the venetian blinds.
Downstairs, a vacuum cleaner whined and thumped, and Erica was relieved
that Mrs. Gooch, who cleaned twice a week, had let herself in and was
already at work. It meant that today Erica need not bother with the
house, though lately, in any case, she had paid much less attention to
it than she used to do.
A morning paper was beside the bed. Adam must have left it there, as he
sometimes did. Propping herself up with pillows, her long ash
blond hair
tumbling over them, Erica unfolded it.
A sizable portion of page one was given over to an attack on the auto
industry by Emerson Vale. Erica skipped most of the news story, which
didn't interest her, even though there were times when she felt like
attacking the auto world herself. She had never cared for it, not since
first coming to Detroit, though she had tried, for Adam's sake. But the
all-consuming interest in their occupations which so many auto people
had, leaving time for little else, repelled her. Erica's own father, an
airline captain, had been good at his job, but always put it behind him
mentally when he left an Island Airways cockpit to come home. His greater interests were being with his family, fishing, pottering
at carpentry, reading, strumming a guitar, and sometimes just sitting in the
sun. Erica knew that even now her own mother and father spent far more time
together than she and Adam did.
It was her father who had said, when she announced her sudden plans to
marry Adam: "You're your own girl and always have been. So I won't oppose
this because, even if I did, it would make no difference and I'd sooner
you go with my blessing titan without. And maybe, in time, I'll get used
to having a son-in-law almost my own age. He seems a decent man; I like
him. But one thing I'll warn you of: He's ambitious, and you don't know
yet what ambition means, especially up there in Detroit. If the two of you
have trouble, that'll be the cause of it
.”

She sometimes thought how
observant-and how right-her father had been.
Erica's thoughts returned to the newspaper and Emerson Vale, whose face
glared out from a two-column cut. She wondered if the youthful auto critic
was any good in bed, then thought: probably not. She had heard there were
no women in his life, nor men either, despite abortive efforts to smear
him with a homosexual tag. Humanity, it seemed, had a depressing
proportion of capons and worn-out males. listlessly, she turned the page.
There was little that held interest, from international affairs-the world
was in as much a mess as on any other day-th
rough
to the social section,
which contained the usual auto names: the Fords had entertained an Italian
princess, the Roches were in New York, the Townsends at the Symphony, and
the Chapins duck hunting in North Dakota. On another page Erica stopped
at Ann Landers' column, then mentally began com
3 posing a letter of her own: My problem, Ann, is a married woman's clicW.
There are jokes about it, but the jokes
are made by people it isn't hap
pening to. The plain truth is-if I can speak frankly as one woman to
another-I'm simply not getting enough . . . Just lately I've not been
getting any . . .
With an impatient, angry gesture Erica crumpled the newspaper and pulled
the bedclothes aside, She slid from the bed and went to the window where
she tugged vigorously at the blind cord so that full daylight streamed
in. Her eyes searched the room for a brown alligator handbag she had
used yesterday; it was on a dressing table. Opening the bag, she riffled
through until she found a small, leather-covered notebook which she
took-turning pages as she went-to a telephone by Adam's side of the bed.
She dialed quickly-before she could change her mind-the number she had
found in the book. As she finished, Erica found her hand trembling and
put it on the bed to steady herself. A woman's voice answered, "Detroit
Bearing and Gear
.”

Erica asked for the name she had written in the notebook, in handwriting
so indecipherable that only she could read it.
"What department is he in
.”

"I think-sales
.”

"One moment, please
.”

Erica could still hear the vacuum cleaner somewhere outside. At least,
while that continued, she could be sure Mrs. Gooch was not listening.
There was a click and another voice answered, though not the one she
sought. She repeated the name she had asked for.
"Sure, he's here
.”

She heard the voice call "Ollie!
" An answering voice
said, "I g
ot it," then, more clearly, "Hell
o
.”

-Miss
is Erica
.”

She added uncertainly, "You know; we met . .
.”

"Sure, sure; I know. Where are you
.”

"At home
.”

What number
.”

She gave it to him.
"Hang up. Call you right back
.”

Erica waited nervously, wondering if she would answer at all, but when
the ring back came, she (lid so immediately.
"Hi, baby I"
"Hullo," Erica said.
"Some phones are better
’
n other phones for special kindsa calls
.”

"I understand
.”

"Long time no see
.”

Yes. It is
.”

A pause.
"Why'd you call, baby
.”

Well, I thought . . . we might meet
.”

"Why
.”

"Perhaps for a drink
.”

"We had drinks last time. Remember? Sat all afternoon in that goddam.
Queensway Inn bar
.”

"I know, but . .
.”

"An' the same thing the time before that
.”

"That was the very first time; the time we met there
.”

"Okay, so you don't put out the first time. A dame cuts it the way she
sees; fair enough. But the second time a guy expects to hit the coconut,
not spend an afternoon of his time in a big gabfest. So I still
say-what's on your mind
.”

"I thought . . . if we could talk, just a little, I could explain
'No dice
.”

She let her hand holding th
e phone drop down. In God's nam
e, what was
she doing, even
talking with this There must be other men.
But where?
The phone diaphragm rasped, "You still there, baby
.”

She lifted her hand again. "Yes
.”

"Listen, I'll ask you something. You wanna get laid
.”

Erica was choking back tears; tears of humiliation, self.-disgust.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, that's what I want
.”

"You're sure, this time. No more big gabfest
.”

Dear God!
Did he want an affidavit? She wondered: Were there really
women so desperate, they would respond to an approach so crude?
Obviously, yes.
"I'm sure," Erica said.
"That's great, kiddo I How's if we hit the sack next Wednesday
.”

"I thought . . . perhaps sooner
.”

Next Wednesday was a week away.
"Sorry, baby; no dice. Gotta sales trip. Leave for Cleveland in an hour.
Be there five days
.”

A chuckle. "Gotta keep them Ohio dolls happy
.”

Erica forced a laugh. 'You certainly get around
.”

"You'd be surprised
.”

She thought: No, I wouldn't. Not at anything, any more.
"Call you soon's I get back. While I'm gone, you keep it warm for me
.”

A second's pause, then: "You be all right Wednesday? You know what I
mean
.”

Erica’
s control snapped. "Of course I know. Do you think I'm so stupid
not to have thought of that
.”

"You'd be surprised how many don't
.”

In a detached part of her mind, as if she were a spectator, not a
participant, she marveled:
Has he ever tried making a woman feel good, instead of awful?
"Gotta go, baby. Back to the salt mines I Another day, another dollarl"
"Goodbye," Erica said.
"S'long
.”

She hung up. Covering her f ace with her hands, she sobbed silently until
her long, slim fingers were wet with tears. Later, in the bathroom, washing her face and using make-up to conceal the
signs of crying as best she could, Erica reasoned: There was a way out.
It didn't have to happen a week from now. Adam could prevent it, though
he would never know.
If only, within the next seven nights he would take her, as a husband
could and should, she would weather this time, and afterward, somehow,
tame her body's urgency to reasonableness. All she sought-all she had ever
soughtwas to be loved and needed, and in return to give love. She still
loved Adam. Erica closed her eyes, remembering the way it was when he
firs'. loved and needed her.
And she would help Adam, she decided. Tonight, and other nights if
necessary, she would make herself irresistibly attractive, she'd wash her
hair so it was sweet-smelling, use a musky perfume that would tantalize,
put on her sheerest negligee . .
. Wait! She would buy a new negli
gee-today, this morning, now . . . in Birmingham.
Hurriedly, she began to dress.

Chapter F
our