In a moment, he took his poem from his jacket, smoothed it out on his knee, then laid it on the fledgling flames of a fire he’d just started in his fireplace. Loss was the subject of his poem, the departure of loved ones. The moment he did it, he was sorry, but the flames were far too hungry for him to retrieve it. Still, the title of his poem was the last to curl and brown, so at least he could read that: “Anyone Can Master Grief, but He Who Has It.” It was a title he’d stolen from Shakespeare.
A few moments later, he heard Jip at the door and got up to let him in.
Jip bounded over to lie down in the warmth of the fire. He looked up at Ralph with love in his eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice Herb.
The Dancing Cobra
[1985]
RON AND BILL WERE FRIENDS who had been dating Sally and Beverly for almost a year, during which time neither couple was alone much, though Bill and Beverly talked on the phone daily and had occasional wrestling matches in Beverly’s living room when her mother wasn’t home. They were young, this quartet, and thus far had remained somewhat circumspect, though desire raged in them all.
One cold evening, when Bill was picking up Beverly (Ron and Sally were outside in Ron’s father’s car) and Beverly kept him waiting, Bill happened to open a linen closet, which was in an upstairs hallway, where he wasn’t supposed to go if Beverly’s mother wasn’t home. He wasn’t looking for anything, just sliding his hands in between the pleasing folds of sheets and towels, when he came upon Beverly’s mother’s vibrator, which he pulled out just as Beverly was about to open her door. He shoved the vibrator in his pants and ran downstairs to sit on the couch, where he belonged. He would not have taken it if he’d had time to think, but, of course, time to think changes us all.
The smell of Beverly ballooned before her when she came downstairs slightly after him. Maybe tonight would be the night. Both Bill and Beverly hoped so, though they hadn’t talked about it.
At first, Bill couldn’t wait to share his vibrator discovery with Ron, but by the time they got to the drive-in movie they were going to, he’d decided to keep quiet about it. When the movie started, Ron and Sally scrunched down in the front seat while Bill pulled the vibrator out of his pants and put it inside one of the shoes he had just taken off. Beverly saw him do it, or rather, she saw him rebutton his pants, and said something he had longed to hear her say for weeks by then, which was, “Why not let me do that?” Ron, in front, heard it, too, and looked at Sally with a firmly set jaw.
Meanwhile, back at Beverly’s house, Beverly’s mother came home. She was single, a hardworking woman who had just turned forty that day. The vibrator was a birthday gift she’d bought for herself and tucked away in the linen closet for a spectacular celebration she was thinking of having that night. When she opened the front door she called, “Beverly!” though she knew her daughter wasn’t home. Beverly was a wonderful daughter and would have stayed to celebrate with her mother had her mother not insisted that she go to the movies with Bill. Her mother was an admissions counselor at the University of Puget Sound, the deputy director of Admissions, so one can well imagine that to have bought the vibrator, and now to actually have it in her house, was an act quite contrary to those she performed during her workday. She hadn’t yet used it, but she’d unpacked it and loaded it with batteries and turned it on and off a couple of times. It said, Bzz, bzz.
In the kitchen, while putting down her bundles, she found a cake that Beverly had made that afternoon, with “Happy Birthday, Mom!” written on it. The mail was there, too, a card from her ex, a few bills. Forty. She was forty years old. At school, the fathers of prospective students were close to her age, some of them single, but she rarely dated, had locked herself up in her work and in Beverly for so long that when men did occasionally ask her out, she nearly always turned them down. She sometimes wondered why she was so reluctant—she’d been outgoing and friendly growing up—but there it was, forty years old and no one in her life. And then she saw the vibrator ad tacked to the back of a bus stop. And now it was upstairs in her linen closet.
But of course it wasn’t; it was nestled in Bill’s shoe, on the floor of Ron’s father’s car at the drive-in movie, where Beverly had her hand down Bill’s trousers. Beverly had never done this before and was tentative, wanting to please Bill and to satisfy her own vital urges and curiosity. It was a strange thing to touch, both hard and soft at the same time, like a piece of snipped-off garden hose. Was she really going to let him put it in her? She imagined it lying up against her powdered thigh.
For his part, Bill moved about in spastic pleasure, hoping not to embarrass himself. And Ron, who knew what was happening in the backseat, had repeatedly taken Sally’s hand and put it between his legs. She’d firmly retrieved her hand each time and was getting irritated. She didn’t mind kissing Ron, and she liked letting him put his hands beneath her sweater, but she wasn’t going further, not now, probably not ever with Ron. So Ron grew frustrated and suddenly sat up. “Come on, Bill,” he said, “let’s go to the concession stand for popcorn and Cokes.”
Bill didn’t want to go to the concession stand, but the moment Ron spoke, Beverly pulled her hand out of his pants, and as long as Ron continued to stare at them, she wasn’t putting it back. So he sighed and said, “God, Ron, your timing’s not great, but okay.”
The excitement of what Beverly had done, and his genuine love for her, made Bill forget about the vibrator in his shoe until he bent down to put his shoes back on. And by then, Ron had the door open and the light came on. So Bill could either go buy popcorn in his stocking feet or shove the vibrator under the seat in front of him. Oh, why had he taken the thing in the first place? He pushed it under the seat and slipped into his shoes, but in his irritation, he shoved it so far forward that it hit one of Sally’s ankles. He and Ron were gone by the time Sally reached down and closed her fist around it.
Back at home, Beverly’s mother was preparing her other birthday treat: a rare red steak with a baked potato and a glass of good wine. After that, a piece of Beverly’s birthday cake and then a hot bath. And then her clandestine date with Mr. V., if she had it in her to do such a thing. All during dinner preparations, she thought about it. She always tried to be mindful in everything, from her role as an admissions counselor to cooking well every night for herself and Beverly, but the idea of what sat in her linen closet disrupted her mindfulness tonight. She forgot to set the timer for her steak (which was eight bucks a pound) and she left the wine corked for too long. She didn’t exactly hurry—her date with Mr. V. was for ten o’clock, not sooner—but when the phone rang at 8:30, it was jarring, accusatory. So she decided to let her answering machine take the call.
“Hello, Donna?” said a man’s voice, “Happy birthday, Donna. If you’re there, pick up.”
It was a voice she knew but couldn’t place, a voice with a cloak of warmth around it that made her take her hand off her wineglass and put it between her knees. Whose voice was it? Who knew about her birthday? He waited for the longest time, half a minute, maybe, before hanging up. In the silence that followed, she remembered that there was a way to discover the number of whomever had called most recently. She had to look in the phone’s instruction book to learn how to do it, but it worked, first try. The number was full of sixes and threes, like a code. When she had the thought that she might like to hear that voice again, at right around ten, it was like an electric shock. The number was 636-3663, and the area code was the same as Donna’s.
It was cold outside but warm in the drive-in movie’s concession stand, and warmer yet in the car, where Ron had left the engine on while they’d been gone. And the vibrator was warm in Sally’s hands while she sat there thinking about Ron. Was he so insecure, did he have such fragile confidence in himself that he had brought this thing along for help? Did he plan on using it on her? She wanted to be outraged, but by the time the car door opened again, she decided to bide her time and tucked the vibrator out of sight.
“What did we mi
ss?” Ron asked, but Bill only took his shoes off again and snuggled up next to Beverly. There was a blanket behind them, so he pulled it down and covered them, in the hope that they might get back to what they were doing. He had forgotten about the vibrator, for his mind was entirely taken up with Beverly, about whom he had come to a decision during his long wait in the concession line. This touching was fine and he wanted more, but he also wanted to tell her that they should go no further tonight, not in the backseat of Ron’s father’s car, but should do it properly in her bedroom tomorrow, when her mother was out.
Back at her house, 636-3663 was quickly becoming Beverly’s mother’s mantra, playing havoc on her mind, while the vibrator played just as much havoc on Sally’s. So while Beverly’s mother finished her dinner and washed the dishes with as much mindfulness as she could muster, all the while thinking that the phone call was either from Hal in Chemistry, Frank in Buildings Maintenance, or that new guy, Lou, from her very own office, Sally was in the throes of antithetical emotions, incensed and intrigued at the same time. At first, she kissed Ron so hard that he almost spilled his Coke and did upset their popcorn. “Sorry,” he said when they both got their fingers buttery picking it up, but Sally said, “Never mind that,” slipping one of those fingers into his mouth, her other hand around the now buttery vibrator. How dare he bring this! she said to herself. Unlike Beverly, Sally wasn’t a virgin, though she hadn’t enjoyed the experience with her previous boyfriend, Ned. She thought of Ron as a stopgap, someone to help her get over Ned, but here she was, about to let this new passion for him get the best of her, when suddenly her fingers hit the switch that turned the vibrator on. Bzz, it said, with such unexpected encroachment that Ron sat up and started messing with the heater knobs. Bzz, bzz. Sally pressed down hard but had difficulty turning it off.
At home, though it wasn’t yet ten, Donna went down to the basement to dig out the vibrator’s packing box. She hadn’t read its instructions—she’d been far too nervous unpacking it—but she didn’t want to hurt herself by misusing it on her birthday. What if she got it stuck in there or kept it on too long, or even, God forbid, electrocuted herself? She laughed as she took the box upstairs and set it on the edge of the tub. ASSISTANT ADMISSIONS DIRECTOR DEAD AT FORTY. She could see the headlines now.
She put bubbles in her bath, lit candles around the tub, took off her clothes, and slipped down into the churning water while music played in the background. The music was from a classic rock radio station she liked and the Beatles were just then singing, “I get by with a little help from my friends.” That made her laugh, as well. She was a good-looking woman, only forty, for crying out loud. Oh, why couldn’t she put a name to that voice on the phone?
She picked up the box and for the first time really looked at the cover drawing: an anthropomorphic snake with a row of sibilant S’s coming from its mouth. The vibrator’s name was “The Dancing Cobra,” with the slogan “Find Your Own True Happinessss at Home” written in undulating letters. “Ssss, my ass,” she told it, and then her phone rang again, not only downstairs but here between the candles, right on the edge of the tub. She didn’t normally bring her phone into the bathroom with her, but she had tonight, pulling it from her bedside on a terrifically long cord. “What if it’s him?” she asked the snake on the box.
She had her wineglass in the bathroom, too, and took a sip while she counted the rings—three, four—until she heard the answering machine clicking on downstairs. “Yes, hello?” she said, grabbing the phone beside her and sitting up in the tub.
“Donna?” said that same man’s voice. “You’re there; you’re home….”
“Yes, I’m home. Who is this?”
She reached over and turned down the radio.
“It’s Richie…. You know, from back in high school and Brown’s Point. I know this is weird, but I got you a birthday present and wondered if I might bring it over.”
Richie from high school? Richie from back when she was a kid? My God, she hadn’t spoken to Richie in twenty years. How did he know about her birthday? She looked at the photo of the dancing cobra.
“Richie,” she said. “What a wonderful surprise. How are you?”
“I’m well. I’m back in town. I’d dearly love to see you.”
“Well, I don’t know, Richie,” she said. “It is kind of late, and Beverly isn’t home.”
She laughed and put a soapy hand to her brow. She hadn’t talked to him in twenty years and still she wanted to tease him. Had she really said, “Beverly isn’t home”? “Of course, Richie. I have no idea why you’d get me a present, but of course you can bring it over. And is ‘Richie’ still okay?”
“‘Richie’ will do,” he said. “So what do you think? Is ten too late?”
Ten o’clock, the witching hour.
“Ten’s perfect,” she said, “I’ll give you a piece of birthday cake.”
When he hung up, she dropped “The Dancing Cobra” box, then picked up a bar of soap and started to wash, her heart skipping around the edges of the tub. Richie from high school, Richie from all the way back to Brown’s Point was calling her and telling her he wanted to bring her a birthday present.
When she stepped from the tub and looked at “The Dancing Cobra” box, some soap fell from her body and landed on the snake’s mouth, making it look even more obscene than it had when it arrived in the mail.
Back at the drive-in, in the movie itself, a woman was sitting in the cabin of a boat with her legs parted and her panties showing, her face bemused and taunting. “You think you’re man enough, Johnny?” she said as she raised and pointed a pistol. The camera switched to Johnny. “What do we have here?” he said.
That’s what Sally imagined herself telling Ron while holding up the vibrator. True, while Ron had been kissing her, she’d just about decided not to say anything, to take the vibrator home with her—but what did he think, that he was going to shove it in her and make her think it was him? What a fool Ron was! How could she have seen anything in him in the first place?
“Get your hands off me, Ron, and take me home,” she suddenly said.
“Huh?” said Ron.
“You heard me. Take me home, you pervert. Damn you, Ron, what kind of girl do you think I am?”
“Sally, what the hell?”
“Just start the engine and drive! I’ve half a mind to tell your father what goes on in his car.”
“How come they’re fighting?” Bill asked Beverly when the engine roared to life.
“Search me,” said Beverly, “They should learn to get along, like us.”
They were under the blanket. holding each other and smiling, their hearts as light as Ron’s was heavy. When the car lurched away from its parking space, however, slamming over the drive-in’s speed bumps, they both sat up. “Hey, Ron, slow down,” said Bill.
“Get your own goddamn car!” bellowed Ron.
Bill reached up to touch his friend’s shoulder, but Ron was in no mood to be cajoled. “Get your hands off me or I’ll kick you out right now,” he said, “And Sally, you can go fuck yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Sally said.
She was far too pleased with her own cleverness and barked out a couple of laughs, and though Beverly remained dumbfounded, that made Bill remember the vibrator. He leaned down to search the floor, inside his recently removed shoes, and everywhere. He reached so far forward that he brushed Sally’s ankle.
“What happened, Bill, you lose a contact lens?” asked Beverly, while Sally punched Ron’s shoulder. “Creep!” she cried. “Weirdo!”
Ron was furious, but as they roared along the highway, he tried to slow down. All he needed was another speeding ticket and he would lose his driving privileges. “You must be on the rag or something, Sally!” he yelled.
“That’s right, blame me! Sexist! Pig! Big man Ron, can’t get it up without help!”
But she had gone too far. She couldn’t steal the vibrator now without trouble. So she nearly pulled it out to
wave at Bill and Beverly. If she did that, though, Ron might really go crazy. So she let out an agonized “Ohhh!” and shoved it back under the seat.
“Got it!” said Bill, pretending he’d just found his contact lens.
“Want my hand mirror, sweetie?” Beverly asked, but Bill shook his head and feigned putting the contact back in his eye. And after that, they sat with their shoulders touching, until Ron pulled up in front of Sally’s house, reached across to open her door, and screamed, “Get out!”
Meanwhile, Donna had parted her curtains and was peeking out at the quiet street. Not only was there cake but there was sherry, too, and she’d gone around the living room fluffing pillows and straightening Beverly’s various pictures on the walls. It really was overkill to have so many photos of your child. There must be four dozen, she realized, and vowed to put some of them away. Richie would think she didn’t have a life of her own.
She wanted to part the curtains again, but when she heard someone pull up outside, she went into the kitchen instead to plug in the coffeepot. Coffee went better with cake than sherry, and gave less of an impression that this was a date. Richie, my God. She put the sherry in the cupboard and returned to the living room to open the door.
Beverly and Bill were coming up the walk and behind them Ron had just zoomed away when another car, an ancient 1950s MG, pulled into the vacated spot. Beverly and Bill looked as bedraggled as the MG, which was spotted with lead and primer. Richie sat behind the wheel, a large package in the seat beside him. He killed the engine and got out, not by opening the door, but by stepping over it. She would not have recognized him.
“Sorry, Mom,” said Beverly, “but Ron and Sally were freaking out.” Richie, meanwhile, reached back into his car to pick up the box.
“Don’t you know it’s winter?” Donna called, “Doesn’t that thing have a top?”
Tacoma Stories Page 13