Kill Me a Husband

by Tedd Thomey

  “Hurry, Bud. I’m smothering!”

  Tugging at the dress, he pulled it over her head and dropped it to the rug. He fell to the cushions beside her, embracing her, kissing her eyes and her warm, flushed cheeks.

  “Not yet!” She laughed and pushed him away. “Not yet!”

  Once more she leaped to the arm rest, standing with arms outstretched, completely nude except for her silk stockings which were rolled just below the knee, held in place with circular yellow garters. She chewed her gum with rapid motions, lips parted, teeth shining in the light from the cut-glass chandelier.

  “Am I pretty?” she demanded.

  “Yes!”

  “Are you excited?”

  “Yes, damn it!” He rose to his knees on the chesterfield and reached toward her. “You’re driving me crazy!”

  “Do I look like a bride?”

  “Yes, damn it!”

  “Then catch me, Daddy, because here I come!”

  She leaped into his arms and they sprawled across the cushions, side by side. She fastened her teeth into the cords of his neck, biting so hard he felt the pain all the way to his shoulder.

  “How did you like that, Daddy?”

  “I loved it, Mommy. Do it again!”

  She bit him once more, equally hard, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. They kissed as if driven bv demands and compulsions which would never be calmed. He stroked his palms hard against the silkiness of Alma’s naked flesh, finding the contours and smooth hollows, and he felt her body grow tense with desire and felt himself being drawn to exceptional heights of sensation. She pulled him savagely against her. And as their bodies united in the age-old rhythm of love, there was only one reality, their demand for each other, their hurtling, aching need for fulfillment.

  “Oh, my God,” he cried. “I love you, Mommy!”

  He slept as if drugged—a deep sleep which was totally dark except for a pinpoint of light twinkling in the distance. As the light came closer, growing larger, he knew he was beginning to dream and he tried to turn his head, tried to avoid looking at the light. But he could not. The light became brighter and brighter and as it drew closer he felt a heavy sensation of guilt. Again he tried to turn away, but the light mesmerized him, making him hold his neck muscles rigid. And now it was so close that he could identify it and his guilt was a tremendous weight within him. Because the fight was a halo. And directly beneath it was a woman in white robes—long white robes that swept the ground as she walked toward him. And in her pale white hands she carried reverently a Bible with wrinkled pages. He tried to cry out. He tried to say “No! No!” But he could not speak.

  As the woman came closer he saw that she was his mother and the halo shone brightly upon her white hair and upon the tragic expression of her face. She took one more step toward him and abruptly, like a picture projected by a magic lantern, her face was replaced by another. The new face was Alma’s, wicked and wanton, chewing gum, her tongue flicking pinkly against her teeth. Just as abruptly the face changed again. And now it was Peony’s face, pink and very youthful—Peony of the plump lips and baby chin. And Peony was laughing at him, pointing her finger at him and laughing uproariously, peals of laughter that crashed against his eardrums and reverberated within the coves and corridors of his brain.

  He awoke so quickly his body was stiff for a moment, his legs aching from the strain. Unable to determine at once where he was, he gazed about the dim room, blinking at the strange shapes. He turned his head and saw Alma lying beside him on the bed and then he remembered. He felt very tired. Recalling the dream, he forced his eyes to remain open because he didn’t want to dream like that again. The guilt lay within him as heavy as his exhaustion. He was not dismaved bv the appearance in his dream of his mother with the Bible. It was rather remarkable that she had remained silent instead of admonishing him and quoting the Seventh Commandment, “Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery,” and perhaps several others. Nor had the appearance of Alma surprised him.

  But Peony had been a definite shock. He had not though about Peony for a long time. Peony with her plump fifteen-year-old figure. Peony with her plump lower lip and her laughter.

  He stared at the dim ceiling. It wasn’t right for Peony to laugh in the dream and ridicule him. He didn’t want to remember how it had been, but his mind went back anyway, recalling how he had pursued Peony into the tall grass on the slopes behind the school. He had been seventeen at the time and he had heard the other fellows talking more than once about how easy Peonv was. He had been amazed when she whispered to him after school and flicked her white skirts at him. He was amazed that she had chosen him, the smallest boy in the junior class and easily the most quiet.

  He had walked with her silently up the slopes, his heart drumming because she stayed so close beside him, her leg touching his more than once as they moved into the taller grass. Once when he helped her through the strands of a wire fence she deliberately pressed her left breast, very young and very firm, against his arm and he had grown so excited he had lost his footing and nearly fallen.

  He closed his eyes tightly, trying to erase the image, but it would not erase. He could still see Peony’s face, pink and soft-chinned, the eyes baby blue but not at all innocent. She selected a place where the grass was waist high and then she winked at him—winked at him with a wickedness which was far too knowing for her fifteen years, and she held out her arms to him.

  He had stared at her, unable to move.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” she demanded.

  “What do you mean?” He knew it was the wrong thing to say, but he could not help himself.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me? Don’t you want to?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Sure, Peony-”

  He had fumbled against her, somehow finding her lips in his excitement and was astonished at how moist and strange her mouth felt. It was the first time he had ever kissed a girl. Almost at once she had begun moving her hip against him, caressing him with it, and then she had pulled him down into the tall soft grass.

  “Isn’t this nice here?” she whispered. “Doesn’t it make you want to do things?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Sure, but-”

  “You’re just shy,” she said. “Here, I’ll show you.”

  But as her hand took his and placed it upon her breast, he felt terror instead of desire and drew away.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then come here.”

  She lay back in the grass, her eyes glittering at him while her hands drew her skirt slowly up, revealing her white plump thighs.

  He had wanted to touch her. He had wanted desperately to touch her soft stomach and legs but instead he had panicked. He had gotten quickly to his feet and retreated from her.

  “Come back here!” she ordered.

  “No!”

  “Come here!”

  “No, I’m sorry, Peony, but I—”

  She had insisted. She had scolded. And then she began the insults. And the laughter.

  “Sissy!” she said. “Fraidy cat!”

  He fled from her, running down the slopes, hearing her sarcastic laughter all the way, hearing more insults.

  “Sissy! Sissy!” she’d called. “Run to “your mother, sissy!”

  Her laughter had followed him all the way to the road and it rang in his ears even after he was home. The next day he had not gone to school because he knew Peony would tell and the boys would whisper about him and laugh behind his back. Nor did he return to school on subsequent days. Instead he took a job at the packing house, sweeping floors and carrying cartons. He never returned to school.

  Turning over, he tried to sleep, but the dream and his thoughts of Peony remained sharply in his mind. Silently he cursed the dream. It was wrong for the dream to mock him with Peony’s laughter. Not tonight, not here in this room where ne had certainly proved himself as a man.

  He felt Alma stir beside him and then
she whispered softly in his ear.

  “Are you awake?”

  He did not answer.

  “Bud?”

  Her finger touched first one rib, then another, moving provocatively.

  “Bud,” she said. “Wake up!”

  He pretended to stretch and awaken, then turned and looked at her. Her eyes seemed to shine in the darkness.

  She giggled. She poked him with her finger.

  “Let’s have a party,” she said.

  He expelled his breath with a rush.

  “Again?” he said.

  “Why not? Aren’t you my ever-loving Buddy-boy?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts.” Her warm mouth nuzzled his ear and her hand began to caress his leg. “Am I your ever-loving Mommy-girl?”

  “Yes, dear. Of course.”

  He could not resist.

  Nor did he want to resist, not when he thought of Peony and her sarcastic laughter.

  CHAPTER 5

  She bustled about the living room, turning down a fold on the flowered cover on the sofa, straightening the edges of the pile of film magazines and making sure there was no dust on the window sill.

  “Goodness, Alma.” Her mother smiled at her fondly. “I can’t get over how good you’ve been looking the last few months. Do you really think that new medicine, that awful-tasting stuff, is making such a change in you?”

  “Of course, Mother. It’s full of iron and pep, that’s what the doctor says.”

  Mrs. Jansson wrinkled her nose. “I suppose I ought to try taking some again. But I just can’t abide that rotten-egg taste.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Alma said. “I’ll be getting a new bottle when I see the doctor on Monday. Maybe it won’t taste as bad.”

  She smoothed her skirt and then patted Mrs. Jansson’s cheek. “Be sure and take your apron off. Mr. Green said he’ll be here at eleven-thirty.”

  “I wish you hadn’t told him to come.” Mrs. Jansson sighed and shook her head. “My goodness, I don’t even wear the corsets I’ve got, so why bother with a new one.”

  “Now, Mother, you know you should do something about your figure. And when I see the doctor Monday I’ll ask him if you should try some more of the medicine. I think it’s been helping Norman.”

  “Well, maybe you do know best. But the taste—”

  Mrs. Jansson stopped talking as the phone rang.

  “Oh, dear,” said Alma. “I hope it’s not Mr. Green saying he can’t come.”

  She walked into the hallway and took the receiver off the hook.

  “Hello?” She kept her voice low so her mother wouldn’t overhear.

  “Howdy, honey! Got a sec to talk?”

  It was the bright, lively voice of Scotty McNally. She had told him before, and Ralph too, never to call her at home. They were both building contractors, working for the same big company, and they were lots of fun at times, wonderful fun. But they just didn’t, realize that she didn’t have as much time for them these days because of Ward.

  “No, I can’t talk,” she said. “I’ll call you this afternoon.”

  “Only need a sec, baby. How about a little get-together Monday P.M.?”

  “No, Scotty. I’m always dated up on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I’ve told you that before.”

  “So you have, hon. So you have. How about Tuesday?”

  Trying to decide, she hesitated. She had known Scotty much longer than Ward and it wasn’t easy to tell him no because he could be very persistent and difficult, employing a variety of sales talks.

  “Scotty,” she said, “I’ll call you back. Really, this is the wrong time to call. I’m going to hang up now. ‘Bye.”

  Replacing the phone, she returned to the front room.

  “Who was it?” her mother asked.

  “Mame. Her and her movies. I told her I couldn’t go.”

  “Did she say which one she’d been to last?”

  “No.”

  “I wish she had. I was thinking I might go to one this afternoon after I shop.”

  “Why don’t you, Mother. Take a little out of the grocery money and have a soda while you’re at it.”

  “Thank you, Alma.” Mrs. Jansson smiled, delighted with her daughter’s generosity. “You’re really too good to me—I just don’t know where I’d be without you—”

  Through the living room window Alma saw a movement on the front steps.

  “He’s here, Mother. Now you be nice to him, won’t you?”

  “Of course, dear. But I still don’t know why you should buy me another corset. My gracious, Alma, they’re so uncomfortable, so tight around the—”

  “Mother, please!”

  Alma put her finger to her lips and Mrs. Jansson nodded and kept silent.

  The bell rang and Alma opened the front door.

  “Why how do you do, Mr. Green. It’s so nice of you to come.”

  She winked at him.

  He winked back.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Chrysler. I trust that I haven’t kept your mother waiting?”

  “Not at all. Please come in.”

  It went off very well. She saw at once that her mother was impressed by this neat-suited stranger with the clean fingernails and good manners. Ward was actually only a few inches taller than Mrs. Jansson, but he always looked considerably taller than he was because his thick reddish-brown hair was combed in an erect, wavy pompadour. At no time did he touch Mrs. Jansson and this propriety won her over completely. He allowed her to measure herself with his tape in the privacy of the hallway. He referred to the sample garments from his leather case as corselets and kept his eyes carefully averted while Mrs. Jansson managed an intimate inspection of the seams and stays.

  After the purchase was made, and a date set for delivery of the garment, Mrs. Jansson looked at the mantel clock and then at her daughter.

  “Alma,” she said, “it’s almost noon. Don’t you think we should invite Mr. Green to lunch?”

  “What a nice idea,” Alma said. “I should have thought of it myself.”

  “I’ll fix it,” Mrs. Jansson said. “You two just sit here and talk.”

  For an hour, until after one o’clock, Alma and Ward dawdled over their chicken pies, salad and muffins. At that point Mrs. Jansson, as Alma knew she would, announced that she was late for her shopping trip, apologizing to Mr. Green for not being able to stay until lunch was over.

  “You go right ahead,” Ward said sociably. “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes myself, but not until I have one more cup of this delicious Swedish coffee.”

  That compliment, following several others, completed Mrs. Jansson’s capitulation and she departed with a smile, inviting Mr. Green to stay as long as he liked and enjoy several more cupfuls. Alma watched from the window and as soon as Mrs. Jansson’s solid figure was out of sight, she skipped across the room and seated herself on Ward’s lap.

  “Right on schedule,” she giggled. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  He kissed her throat and then touched her nose with the tip of his tongue. “You’re a genius, Mommy. How long will she be gone?”

  “Hours, darling. All afternoon, at least.”

  She mussed his hair, loosened his collar and bit him playfully on the neck. Then she wriggled off his lap and went to the buffet, exaggerating the motions of her hips as she walked. When she finished pouring two glasses of rye whiskey, one considerably fuller than the other, she turned and winked at him.

  “I know why you think I invited you here, Mr. Green.” She paused, giggling. “And you’re so right. But there’s another reason.”

  “Now, Mommy,” he laughed, “who do you think you’re kidding? For you there’s never anv other reason.”

  “Shame on you.” She pretended to be hurt. “How can you say such a thing?”

  They laughed together and she handed him the full glass. They clinked rims and drank.

  “And now, Mr. Know-It-All,” she said. “I’ll show you a thing or two.”


  “There’s only one thing you can show me, Mommy, And the sooner the better—”

  He tried to pinch her hip, but she dodged his grasp and went to the end table. She searched through the pile of film magazines until she found a particular one.

  “I have an announcement to make,” she said.

  “Let’s not get serious. Save it for later.”

  “No, Bud, I want to show you now. How would you like to look at ninety-six thousand dollars?”

  He laughed. “I thought we were supposed to be serious.”

  “And I am.” She opened the magazine and displayed three thick, printed forms. “I want” you to take a loot at these.”

  One at a time, she handed him the insurance policies First the thousand-dollar policy, then the five-thousand-dollar policy and finally, with an appropriately dramatic flourish, the forty-five-thousand-dollar policy.

  “And now what do you think of your little busines! woman?” she said. “Have you noticed that each one ii properly signed?”

  She watched, smiling, as he examined each policy, hi« features very sober, his gray eyes puzzled.

  She took back the forty-five-thousand-dollar one, waving it in the air.

  “I’m proud of this little beauty,” she said. “Double indemnity. Ninety thousand.”

  “Good Lord!” He shook his head slowly from side to side, then gulped his drink. “What does Norman wan with so many policies? I thought you said he didn’t give a rap about you and Eileen.”

  “The Governor? Why he doesn’t even know about them.”

  “Doesn’t know about them? Impossible. He signed them, didn’t he?”

  “Of course he did!” She clapped her hands together gleefully. “Aren’t you proud or me? He thought he was signing just that little-bitty, thousand-dollar one. I told him the other two were duplicate copies and he went right ahead and signed them, too. Good old Norman!”

  Returning to the buffet, she refilled Ward’s glass and handed it to him. He drained half of it and then gazed at her, his eyes even more puzzled.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said. “Nobody would do such a darn foolish thing.”

  “You don’t know the Governor. Busy with his damn car, busy with his damn boat and his sketches, too busy for business. And he admits himself that he’s no businessman. That’s the one good thing I can say about him. He gives me eighty-five dollars a week to run the house, twice as much as I need. I’ll pay the premiums out of that and still have plenty left for my other bills, including you.” Pinching his cheek, she kissed him hard on the lips and rumpled his hair.