by Judy Blume
“Not yet . . . not yet . . .” he said, lifting her onto the bed. He unzipped her skirt and slid it off, then got out of his denim pants and jockey shorts. She looked down at him. How ready he was. How stiff and beautiful. She told him so.
He laughed and said, “I’ve put on some weight.”
“I don’t mind.” She reached for his penis and held it in her hand, tracing his swollen tip with two fingers. A silky mushroom. She squeezed him and felt a drop of his liquid, exciting herself even more.
Now he moaned softly, pulled down her panties, kissed her belly, her inner thighs, licked his way back up to her breasts, to her face. He kissed her lips and she buried her tongue in his mouth.
“I love you,” she told him. “I’ve always loved you!”
“You didn’t come,” he said, after.
“I know . . . I couldn’t . . . I was too excited.”
“Too excited to come?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “That’s a new one.”
“I’ll come next time,” she told him.
“I hope so,” he said. “I’d hate to think I’ve lost my touch.”
Next time was in half an hour and she came three times, which pleased him. “Soup, main course, and dessert,” she said without thinking. Then she blushed. How could she play Norman’s game with Shep?
“Tomorrow, Sandy?” Shep asked as they soaped each other in the shower.
“Yes.”
“How about a five-course meal?”
“Maybe, but I’m not always that hungry.”
“Don’t eat any breakfast.”
“I always have breakfast. Rice Krispies and toast.”
“Always?”
“Well, sometimes I have cornflakes.”
“I’m glad you haven’t changed, kid.”
“I’m glad you haven’t either.”
21
THAT NIGHT SHE AND NORMAN signed the papers, selling their house, Enid’s house, to Four Corners Realty Company, who, in turn, would almost certainly sell it to blacks.
“We hope to move by the second week in September,” Norman explained to Mr. Podell, the representative from Four Corners, “and we’d appreciate it if you didn’t show the house until we’ve gone.”
“We understand your feelings on this matter,” Mr. Podell said, scratching his head.
“It’s not us,” Norman added, hastily. “It’s my mother. She and my father built this house, spent a lot of years in it . . .”
“Of course, of course.” Mr. Podell examined the fingernails on the hand that had scratched his head. What did he expect to find there? “Don’t worry, Mr. Pressman, we’re known for our discretion at Four Corners. We’ll bring our clients in after dark, on nights when you and the family are out.”
Norman nodded.
“Is that legal?” Sandy asked.
Mr. Podell flushed.
“Damn right it’s legal!” Norman told her.
“We’ll keep an exclusive on it until you move so that we can control the prospective buyers. Then, if we still haven’t sold it, we’ll put it on multiple listing, but by that time you’ll be comfortably settled in Watchung and I seriously doubt that we’ll have to go to that. I have in mind a very successful attorney. I think this might be just what he’s been looking for.”
Norman and Mr. Podell shook hands, then Sandy showed Mr. Podell to the front door. “You made a wise decision,” he said.
“Yes.” She went back into the den, where Norman was carefully studying the ten-thousand-dollar check of deposit. The balance was due at the closing, in a few weeks.
“We’re on our way to Watchung!” Norman sang, hugging her. Banushka barked, jealous of the attention Norman was showing Sandy. Norman scooped him into his arms. “You’re going to like it up there, little fellow, just you wait.”
“I hope he doesn’t have an adjustment problem,” Sandy said. “Dogs sometimes do, don’t they?”
“Not our little guy. He’ll be fine. How many sticks did he make today?”
“Two sticks and four wees,” Sandy lied.
“That’s good, I didn’t see it on his chart.”
“Oh, maybe I forgot to mark it.”
“I wish you’d try to remember that, San. It’s important for me to know how he’s doing.” He put Banushka down. “Well, we better get going. Lucille and Ben will be waiting.”
“Lucille and Ben! I thought we were going out by ourselves.”
“Ben called this afternoon, to check on our weekend game, and asked if we’d like to join him and Lucille for dinner at The Club. I accepted.”
“I don’t want to go there, Norm.”
“You’ll have to get over that, Sandy, the sooner the better. It’s still our Club and I intend to make the most of it.”
“TO WATCHUNG!” Lucille and Ben toasted. “To a happy and healthy new life there!”
“Hear . . . hear . . .” Norman raised his glass to theirs. “I’ll drink to that . . .”
To us! Sandy thought. To a new life.
“Sandy,” Ben said, “you can’t be serious about quitting golf . . .”
“I’m serious.”
“It doesn’t take much to upset Sandy,” Norman said. “She’s very . . .”
“I’m emotionally immature,” Sandy told them, before he’d finished. “In fact, I’ve only got half a brain. Right, Norm?”
Lucille and Ben looked at each other. “To each his own,” Ben said, drinking.
“Isn’t it terrible about Barbara and Gish?” Luscious asked.
“It’s the women’s lib thing,” Norman said. “None of them know how good they have it . . .”
“Oh, no . . . you’ve got it all wrong,” Sandy said, “Gish walked out . . .” But the others weren’t really listening.
When they got home and into bed Norman snuggled up to her and said, “I feel like a little something.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“What do you mean, you don’t?”
“I’m tired.”
“You don’t have to do anything but lay there and open your legs. I’ll do all the work.”
“No, Norm.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, no! I mean I don’t want to.”
“This is supposed to be a celebration.”
“We celebrated over dinner. I drank too much. I’m feeling very gassy.”
“A little something will make the gas go away.”
“A little something will probably make me fart.”
“Forget it,” he said, rolling over.
SHE GOT A LETTER from Jen the next morning.
Dear Mommy,
Since visiting day I had a fight with Beth. She used to be my best friend. Now I hate her. She is getting everyone in my bunk to hate me. I think I should come home right away.
Your poor little unhappy daughter,
Jennifer P.
Sandy shook her head. No point in calling camp this time. No point in writing about it either. By the time her letter arrived at camp bunk politics would have changed, possibly more than once. And camp would be over in less than two weeks. Jen and Bucky would be home. They’d be a family again. She’d have to start sorting out junk, deciding what to take to the new house and what to get rid of. They’d have to arrange for the movers and start packing. She’d have to shop. They’d need new linens, new kitchen dishes. Maybe she should work with a decorator. Myra did. Oh, shit, she wouldn’t think about any of that now. Wouldn’t think about real life. She was going to spend the afternoon with Shep. And that was all that mattered.
“HELLO, KID . . . how’s it going?”
They met at the Holiday Inn on Route 22, where it meets the Parkway.
“Look what I have.” She showed him the sexual encyclopedia she’d bought last January, when she was still full of new New Year’s resolutions.
Shep laughed. “We don’t need that.”
“Maybe you don’t but I do. I don’t have any experience.”
“You don’t need experience to know what feels good.”
She thought about that, then dropped the book to the floor and kissed him. “You’re right . . . you’re always right . . . and I love you, Shep . . .”
“I love you too.”
“Do you know I’ve never been on top?”
“You’ve never?”
“Never.”
“You’ve got a lot to make up for . . .”
She wasn’t sure whether she liked the sex best or the closeness following. She felt so safe sleeping in his arms, their bodies curved around each other.
“Come away with me for the weekend, Sandy.”
“How can I?”
“You’ll think of a way if you really want to.”
“I want to . . . I want to . . . it’s just that . . .”
“No excuses this time.”
“What about you? What will you tell Rhoda?” There. The first time she’d said her name to him. She didn’t want to think about Rhoda, didn’t want to acknowledge her existence. She hated Rhoda, hated her for having Shep all these years, for sleeping next to him and waking up with him and having babies with him and sharing life with him. She wished Rhoda were dead. Rhoda and Norman, killed in an accident together. How easy that would make it for them. How wicked she felt for her thoughts. Rhoda was a decent person, raising four, soon to be five, kids. Who was she to wish her dead?
“Rho and the kids are going to the beach this weekend. We have a place down on Long Beach Island.”
“Don’t you go with them?”
“Usually, but there are times when I have to go looking at land.”
“What’ll I tell Norman?”
“That’s up to you.”
“Where will we go?”
“I’ll think of someplace. Let’s get an early start. Say, nine at Newark Airport.”
She nodded and wrapped her arms around him. “There’s so much time to make up for. So many years.”
“I know. You were such a scared little girl then. Always thinking your mother was looking over your shoulder.”
“She was.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t care anymore.”
“I’m going to make love to you all weekend until you can’t take any more.”
“I can take a lot.”
“We’ll see who gives up first.”
“I love you, Shep. I don’t know how to tell you how much I love you.”
“I can feel it.”
ON THE WAY HOME she remembered that she’d left the sexual encyclopedia on the floor of the motel. Oh, so what? It didn’t have her name in it. Maybe the maid would appreciate it. With Shep there was no need for how-to’s. She laughed out loud, feeling giddy. Giddy with sex and adventure and love.
She could imagine what they’d say when they found out she was going to divorce Norman and marry Shep. Norman wouldn’t believe her at first, wouldn’t take her seriously. What are you talking about . . . a divorce . . .
Just that, she would tell him, I’m in love with another man and we’re going to be married. It’s very easy to understand if you try.
You’re crazy.
No.
Emotionally immature.
Not that either.
I’ll get custody of the children. You’ll never see them again. You’re an unfit mother and I can prove it.
You can’t scare me with that crap, Norman.
All right . . . go ahead . . . get a divorce! You’ll come crawling back to me in a year . . . you’ve never known how good you have it with me . . . now you’ll find out the hard way . . . and you won’t get a penny . . . I can promise you that . . . not one fucking penny from me.
I don’t want a penny from you. I don’t want anything from you.
Enid would phone Norman: What did I tell you? Right from the start I said she’s going to bring you trouble, didn’t I? So now you’ve got it. I warned you, Normie, but that’s water over the dam . . . so now you might as well say good riddance to the whore . . . you can do better . . . I know plenty of women who would give their eyeteeth for you. She’ll live to regret it, don’t worry . . . she’ll get her comeuppance . . . I only hope I’m still around to see it.
The children would say: What? You and Daddy are getting a divorce? That means next year at camp we can have two visiting days . . . all the kids with divorced parents get two visiting days . . . one for their mother and one for their father. Where will we live? Will we live with you or Daddy? Who wants to live with Daddy? He can’t cook.
Mona: Oh my God . . . a divorce . . . how can you do this to me? What am I going to tell people? What about the new house? What about the children? Who’s going to support you? I can’t afford to touch my principal, you know that. What? You’re going to marry Shep Resnick? Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I hear he’s done very well for himself . . . in shopping centers, no less . . . I don’t like the idea of divorce . . . but I’m grateful that you’ve found another man to take care of you. A woman shouldn’t be without a man to take care of her . . . believe me, I know.
Myra would give her blessings. I told you, San, the only way to do it is to go straight to another man. And you certainly didn’t waste any time. I’m proud of you. Not only that but he’s rich. You’ve got it made. I should only be so lucky.
Yes, she could almost look forward to telling them. Telling the whole world. Special to the New York Times: Mrs. Mona Schaedel announces the marriage of her daughter, Sondra Elaine Schaedel Pressman, to Shepherd James Resnick. Mr. Resnick is in shopping centers and Mrs. Resnick is in love. Their six children attended them. The bride wore pale beige lace bikini panties . . .
“Norm, I’m thinking about going away for the weekend.”
“What?”
“I’m thinking about going away for the weekend to visit Lisbeth in Maine. She called and invited me up today.”
“You know what I think of Lisbeth.”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m not asking you to go with me. I know you’ve got games all weekend.”
“I don’t like the idea of it, Sandy.”
“Well, I do. And I’ve already told her I’ll be there. I’m flying to Boston in the morning and taking the bus from there. I’ll be back on Monday.”
“Monday? What’s wrong with Sunday.”
“It’s a long trip, Norm, it doesn’t pay to travel on Friday and come back on Sunday. I’d get too tired. You know how tired I get when I travel.”
“If you’re so tired, you should stay home and sit at the pool at The Club.”
“I didn’t say I’m tired. I said I get tired when I travel too much all at once. I need to get away, Norm, to think.”
“The less thinking you do the better off you’ll be.”
“That’s a new one.”
“Most wives wouldn’t desert their husbands over a weekend.”
I will not answer that statement. I will not get into a fight over this. “Myra and Gordon are taking separate trips this week. He’s going to the AMA convention in San Francisco and she’s going to Amherst, to tennis camp.”
“What’s that got to do with us?”
“Nothing, I’m just making conversation.”
“What’ll I eat?”
“Come on, Norm, you’re a big boy. You can eat at The Club.”
“Suppose there’s an emergency?”
“Then you’ll take care of it.”
“Leave your phone number.”
&n
bsp; “Lisbeth doesn’t have a phone in Maine, but I’ll call from a booth and let you know I arrived safely, okay.”
“No, it’s not okay, but it looks like I have no choice.”
That’s right. This time the choice is mine.
“You need money?”
“No, I have enough.”
“What about the airline ticket?”
“I’ll write a check.”
“Here . . .” he said, reaching into his pocket, “take some . . .” He counted out five twenties. “You never know . . .”
She turned the money over in her hand and felt a lump come up in her throat. “Thanks, Norm . . .”
“Just be careful.”
“I will.”
“Who knows . . . maybe the change will do you good.”
She nodded.
“But don’t plan on taking off whenever you feel like it . . . because there’s only so much I can tolerate . . .”
She nodded again.
WHEN SHE WENT DOWNSTAIRS the next morning she found a list taped to the refrigerator.
Sandy: Before the end of next week
1. Arrange for movers
2. Arrange for painters
3. Arrange for fixtures with electrician
4. Arrange to get Banushka to the vet for shots
5. Arrange for the kids to transfer to the schools in Watchung
6. Arrange for live-in Ductla for new house
Arrangements and more arrangements. Sandy didn’t know whether to laugh or to rip the list in shreds.
The phone rang just as she was about to leave the house. “Sandy, it’s Myra. I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to San Francisco after all.”
“I’m glad. I’ve thought you should go all along.”
“Our plane leaves at noon.”
“Have a wonderful time.”
“I hope so. See you next week.”
“Right, bye.”
SANDY DROVE TO THE AIRPORT, wishing she were going away for good, never coming back to Norman or the house. But what about the children? Oh, she’d send for them. Maybe.