The Neighbors Are Watching

by Debra Ginsberg

  Because there was no other reason she could think of why he would think that it was an okay thing to do.

  He’d said it was only for a few hours, while he went to work, and that he’d be back before she knew it and if the baby woke up, all she needed to do was give her a bottle—and maybe change her diaper—and she’d be fine. He didn’t ask, he begged. And when she looked at him then, so stressed out by what was going on in his life, she felt sorry for him, and the words that were on the edge of her lips, about how she didn’t feel comfortable taking care of a baby so young because she didn’t really have the experience and that maybe he should consider getting a sitter who knew what she was doing, stayed unspoken in her mouth. And maybe there was a little more to it than that as well. She felt real warmth for this man with his domestic dramas and respectful manner. That was it, she now realized, the reason why she felt the stirrings of something that could be more than affection. He seemed to respect her. He was hot for her, sure, that was how it all got started in the first place, but underneath all of that there was a kind of innocent courtesy toward her. She remembered when they were getting dressed and ready to leave the hotel a few days ago, and he had, for no other reason than just to be chivalrous, slipped her shoes onto her feet while she was sitting on the bed buttoning her shirt. Prince Charming did that kind of thing. And Jessalyn was a sucker for all things Prince Charming.

  But now here she was with a baby in a basket on her bed and no idea what she would do if the baby woke up and started crying. It was supposed to just come naturally to you if you were a woman. Somehow you were just expected to know what to do with a baby, but Jessalyn had serious doubts about her own maternal capabilities. She had never felt the call to motherhood—never felt a biological or emotional need to reproduce, to create a miniature version of herself. If the time ever came, and Jessalyn assumed that it would, she would have a baby for a man. But for herself, no, Jessalyn did not want a baby. Ever. Of all her secrets, this was the one she guarded the most carefully. There was no bigger sin for a woman—no clearer sign of her lack of normality—than to remain childless by choice, and not because you had some kind of high-powered career (that in and of itself was never a good enough excuse) but because you didn’t really like babies or because you didn’t think you’d know what to do with a baby if you had one. She glanced over at the infant she’d been entrusted with. Sure, she seemed like she was down for the count, but how long would it be before she woke up and started crying? Then what?

  Jessalyn leaned in for a closer look. Well, she was very cute at least. Hard to believe you could have a mouth that little, and those tiny eyelashes were adorable. And that smooth tight skin. Jessalyn sighed. You spent the whole rest of your life trying to re-create the skin you had as a baby. Was there ever a moment as a girl when you were happy with the way you looked? If there was, Jessalyn couldn’t remember it. There was constantly something too big, not big enough, too loose, too ugly, too soft, too hard, too fat, too fat, too fat.… That was always at the core of it, she thought, that permanent worry about looking too fat. It would never end. And soon she’d have to add other procedures to the boob job she’d already had. Bo-tox, collagen, tummy tuck … they were probably all in her future.

  All this maintenance was expensive. And after a certain point it just stopped working. There was nothing worse than that sucked-out, dried-up, perpetually surprised look of women who had had too much plastic surgery, and it was not the future that Jessalyn wanted for herself. Not that there was much of a future in what she was doing now, even though she really didn’t mind it. The sex wasn’t all bad and her guys were handpicked: easygoing and not particularly demanding. As far as she was concerned, it was an even exchange. She was willing, they were willing, and everybody got what they wanted. There was never any negotiation. There were expectations of generosity, gifts, appreciation.… It was all totally on the up and up and more honest than probably half the wives in this neighborhood who gave their husbands annual blow jobs for birthdays or when they wanted jewelry. And it was okay to talk about that too—totally socially acceptable to talk about screwing one’s husband for money. Jessalyn had heard those conversations herself. Yet those same people wouldn’t hesitate to condemn her lifestyle (if they knew anything about it) in the harshest possible terms, as if she were some kind of animal. In the end Jessalyn and the trophy wife up on her hill were the same breed but for one key difference. The wives had security. Jessalyn could count on none of that. She was dependent on her own talent, looks, and the shifting goodwill of the men she dated. There was no way of telling how long any of that would last. Her current situation was fine—even comfortable—but, no, it was not where she wanted to end up.

  But, she thought looking down at the baby, neither was this. A love affair was one thing, but a baby—a grandchild, no less—well, that was something else. Jessalyn wasn’t about to let herself fall into the role of babysitter or stepmom or whatever position it was Joe wanted to give her. She wondered if he was trying to turn her into Allison, who, she’d just found out, had totally walked out on him. He hadn’t given Jessalyn any explanation for that, except to tell her that it had nothing to do with the two of them; he was sure that Allison didn’t know anything about their affair. Jessalyn wasn’t so sure, but she kept that information to herself. Still, even if Allison did know about them, it probably wasn’t the main reason she’d taken off. Joe had told Jessalyn a little about Diana and how she had come to be staying with them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this whole scenario didn’t sit well with Allison, who was a prissy bitch to begin with from what Jessalyn could see. Diana running off and leaving her baby for the two of them to take care of was probably the last straw.

  Jessalyn sighed. She hadn’t wanted to get caught up in this particular family drama at all, but she supposed it was impossible to avoid it—dirty laundry was the emotional price you paid to be involved romantically with another person. In fact, Jessalyn thought wryly, if you wanted romance without drama, you had to pay cash. But Joe did seem pretty anxious about Diana, and Jessalyn felt bad about that. When he’d brought the baby over, he’d told her about how he’d spent the afternoon with the cops, reporting her as missing, and how, at first, he’d gotten the feeling that they thought he was trying to unload his own parental responsibilities onto them by sending them after a kid who was just playing possum. It took him a while to convince them he wasn’t just another rich guy trying to use the police to discipline his spoiled child, he said, and by the end of it he’d become really worried about Diana. Jessalyn had tried to reassure him that Diana was likely fine and just acting out. She’d probably run off before, Jessalyn told him, and this was her way of making a grab for attention. Joe didn’t seem convinced, but he guessed it was true, he told her; he didn’t really know Diana that well, and even though he couldn’t see the point of running away from a place you’d already run away to, he wasn’t an expert on teenagers.

  “They’re more adult than most adults these days,” Jessalyn told him then. “They know exactly what they’re doing.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “You know that Werner kid, Kevin?”

  Jessalyn rolled her eyes, thinking about that fat-assed Dorothy with her mom jeans and her leering husband. “What about him?”

  “Diana’s been hanging out with him since she got here. He’s a bad seed and I just hope she hasn’t gotten involved in any kind of drug thing with him. He’s in the hospital. At least that’s what Dick Werner says. I think he OD’d on something.”

  “Well, that’s not a total surprise,” Jessalyn said. “All the kids around here are into that shit. If they aren’t taking them, they’re selling them.”

  “What? How do you know that?”

  Jessalyn wanted to kick herself. It was entirely unnecessary for Joe to know how she’d come into that particular piece of information, especially since he seemed so completely naive about what was going on in his own neighborhood. In her haste to reassure him,
she’d revealed too much, and there was little time to dial it all back. So Jessalyn gave him what she liked to think of as “the look,” an expression that promised a good time but only if the questioning stopped immediately. It had taken her years to perfect that look with its bedroom eyes, tilted chin, and pouting lips, but it was worth the effort—her own form of instant hypnosis.

  “Joe,” she said, giving his face a quick but meaningful caress, “it’ll all be fine. You’ll see.”

  He’d left it there, not willing to press for more details and needing to go to work, for which he was already late. Plus, he was so relieved that she’d agreed to watch the baby that he was practically stammering with gratitude.

  Jessalyn backed out of her bedroom quietly, as if turning around would wake the baby. She left the door open but didn’t know if she’d be able to hear any crying from downstairs. She decided she’d just have to keep coming upstairs to check and make sure, which seemed like a ridiculous plan, but that was what you got for leaving your baby with someone like her. As she wandered into her living room, idly turning on the television and flipping through the channels on mute, she thought about Diana and felt a twinge of annoyance for this girl whom she didn’t even know. Why had she decided to have the baby in the first place? Did she want to be like one of those celebrity teen moms? Why didn’t these girls realize that nothing was like it seemed on TV? Jessalyn was less than ten years removed from her own high school graduation, but it seemed like things had gone backward by at least fifty. None of the girls she knew who’d gotten pregnant in high school weighed any options other than which clinic would provide the easiest and least expensive abortion. It wasn’t smarter or more honorable to have a baby and then not be able to deal with it afterward, which was obviously what had happened to Diana. Unless the girl really was in trouble. But Jessalyn didn’t want to think about that.

  There was nothing worth watching on television. Since her own dismal experience, Jessalyn had a hard time watching any kind of reality show without gagging, but these days reality shows were all you could find. She was about to settle for a lame cooking show on the Food Network when she heard her doorbell ring and froze, her hand gripping the remote control like it was a gun. She wasn’t expecting a date, her night was free, and none of her very small circle of friends would drop by unannounced. An unexpected visitor could only mean trouble or bad news and for that reason Jessalyn wanted to ignore it—pretend she’d never heard it in the first place. But all her lights were on and it was obvious she was home. Her visitor would know that, whoever it was. She took a step toward the door and stopped again, half-amazed by her own indecision. But when the bell sounded a second time, she realized that it was probably Joe and that thankfully, he’d come back earlier than he’d said. She ran a hand through her hair, tousling it a little, and strutted over to the door.

  The man she knew only as Spence (first name or last she had no idea and had never asked) stood in her doorway holding a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in one hand and a small silver box in the other. He was wearing suit pants and a dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His round forehead was shiny with perspiration and his eyes were very dark. His face was pale, but his neck looked flushed. She opened her mouth to speak, but he was prepared and got the words out first.

  “I know, I know,” he said, grinning. “But I need to celebrate. It was a big day for me today. A big day. And nobody I know can appreciate that more than you.”

  “I …” It had never happened before, Jessalyn realized. Not one of them had ever just shown up. There were rules. There were levels of fantasy to maintain. She hadn’t prepared for this, didn’t know what to say, and was angry at herself because of it.

  “If it’s not convenient, just say the word,” he said. Jessalyn could see that he was looking over her shoulder into the house, his eyes scanning for signs of another man. If he could get away with it, Jessalyn thought, he’d probably be sniffing the air. “I know this is unexpected, but”—he waved the bottle of bubbly in the air—“I took a chance. What do you say, Jessie? Are you up for a little company—because I know I am.”

  Jessalyn smiled and made a show of licking her lips. She was playing for time, the wheels in her brain turning too slowly. Spence was changing the parameters of their relationship and it was going to have to be discussed and sorted out. But she couldn’t talk to him about it now—he was in no frame of mind to have one of those conversations. He was obviously high. Something speedy—coke or meth. She could practically hear the crackle of his brain and crease of his cheeks as he stretched them with that frantic grin. The Widow might mellow him out, though. It was lucky that she happened to be wearing low-rise workout pants and a cropped T-shirt and hadn’t taken a shower since the morning. Spence had a thing about the gym and felt about activewear the way most men felt about lingerie. He liked athleticism—and the taste of sweat. And it was also fortunate that there was nobody else around so that part of the fantasy stayed intact, which was probably a big relief for him even if he did know he was taking a chance of ruining everything with this impromptu visit. So there was that. There was also need—for both of them. And just like that, the decision was made.

  “Well,” she said, “I just had a workout. I was going to jump in the shower, but I could wait for …”

  “About an hour?” he asked, one foot already crossing the threshold.

  “I could wait for an hour,” she said, and stood aside to let him in.

  Wrong, Jessalyn thought. Something was wrong and she should have known it as soon as she saw him at the door. She was sitting in mud-flap girl pose, her knees drawn up and her head tilted backward. There was a line of cocaine on her left breast and a pool of champagne on her crotch. Spence was bent over her like a dog, alternately snorting and lapping. She could feel anger or tension buzzing off him, something barely controlled—not like him. She should have known. He didn’t want any small talk—no time for a civilized drink out of crystal flutes in the living room—just straight upstairs to the big room and the big bed.

  “I brought you a little present,” he said, and placed the small silver box on the nightstand. Her eyes followed his hand, watching the box land, taking note of its exact placement, and when she turned back to him he was already unbuttoning his pants. “Not the bed,” he said. “The floor.”

  “So,” she said, “what’s your big news?” But it was useless. She was sticking to a script that had been changed without her knowledge or approval and he was having none of it.

  Now here they were—the drugs a new twist, but one that she hadn’t had the nerve to forbid. There was something wrong with him and she should have known better. Her eyes found the clock and calculated the twenty-six minutes left in what she already knew was going to be the longest hour of her life. He was grunting. “Lay down,” he barked. He poured the remainder of the bottle over her. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, she thought as he loomed over her. His eyes, black from their dilated pupils, were forming a plan, and Jessalyn knew—knew now with no doubt—that it was about to go badly wrong.

  “What the fuck is that?” He jerked his head up, reddening—those expensive hair plugs of his standing out in sharp relief against the shine of his head.

  “Wha—” Jessalyn started, but then she too heard it outside the buzz of her own head. The baby. In her bedroom the baby she’d completely forgotten about had woken up and was screaming her little head off.

  “Is that a fucking baby? What the fuck?”

  “I …” Jessalyn sat up. Champagne rolled sparkling and sticky to the floor. “Shit. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the neighbor’s baby. I—I’m babysitting.”

  “What the fuck?” he repeated. He stood up. The baby’s wails grew louder. Jessalyn couldn’t decide whether she should go pacify the baby or stay there and pacify Spence.

  “I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” Jessalyn said.

  “You could have told me there was a baby here,”
he said. “Before you let me in.”

  Jessalyn stood up, and they stared at each other for a moment. She tried so hard not to, but Jessalyn flicked her gaze downward, just long enough to see that Spence was done in and long enough for him to see her do it. “Are you going to do something about that crying?” he said.

  “I could …” Jessalyn was lost—completely unable to figure out what was the right thing to do. “I could go and close the door,” she said. “It’ll just take a second. She’ll quiet down.”

  As she was looking at it, Jessalyn knew she would remember the expression on his face until the day she died. It was a toxic mix of disgust and contempt shaded by loathing, both for her and for himself, the likes of which she had never seen. Never, never before this moment had Jessalyn felt as naked or as ashamed.

  “Fuck that,” he said and picked up his pants from the floor. He looked over at the silver box and then back to her. “Keep it,” his mouth said, but what Jessalyn heard was Whore, as loud as if he’d screamed it in her ear.

  He was gone less than five minutes later and she knew he would never be back. Jessalyn put on a thick white terry-cloth robe and went into her bedroom. She picked up the baby and held her to her padded shoulder. “Okay,” she said, “okay now.” She rubbed the baby’s back, so small and sweaty, and smoothed the back of her head. “Okay, shh, baby, okay.” Jessalyn rocked from side to side, patting, rubbing, soothing. In a minute she got quieter, still crying but no longer hysterical, small sounds of need coming from deep inside her baby chest.

  “I’m sorry,” Jessalyn said. “I’m so sorry.”