Alternatives to Piggleston – Quit job, apply for other jobs, move back to Calif, live with parents. Go back to college?
Alternatives to no friends. Join a club. Tennis? Find a decent bar. Near college?
Sometimes all it took was writing a list. The day’s deadline was in an hour, but his work had been finished an hour ago and tomorrow’s copy wouldn’t come in till later in the afternoon. To hone the appearance of working, that was the trick. He opened and shut his desk drawers, sharpened his pencil, scrabbled in files, fiddled with paper clips. He didn’t look up to see if anyone saw him because another trick was to look preoccupied. Genuinely concerned about word count and the way the Piggleston mayor’s wife’s name was spelled. Meanwhile, he returned to fret at his central problem. He was sure it was just a matter of thinking hard enough. Mistakes could be fixed, damn it.
Alternatives to marriage
Divorce was unthinkable. Not that he hadn’t already cast his eyes over their joint possessions, imagining how they’d be divided. He had friends who were already divorced; he knew it was an option which did not end in certain death. If she kept the sofa and television, he could have that expensive oak kitchen table and chairs. He’d spent hours sanding and varnishing them; he deserved them. The record player was his. And the records and the books (They were all going to look great, once he built his brick-and-plank shelves.) He’d keep his MG and she’d have the Morris Minor, and hell, he’d let her keep the set of china that had been a wedding present from his mother. He began to feel less ruthless when he thought about the wedding photos, and the letters from those premarital months, when he’d been up here missing her and she’d been in the Bay Area, planning their wedding. Those lonely nights he drank too much and poured it all into letters, rewritten them ten times, then walked at midnight to the corner mailbox. He’d never been any good on his own. All his daring words of love! And she’d written back once to his three times, and almost no words of love. He’d loved her harder than she’d loved him.
And now, some days he didn’t even like her.
What a fix. What a jam. Jesus Christ, what was he going to do?
He screwed up some paper he didn’t need and tossed it, missing the wastepaper basket. Swearing, he retrieved it and put it in. Lit a cigarette, looked at his watch.
He suddenly thought of his son, of Sam, the image of himself (according to his mother), only blond. And he thought of baby Elisabeth too. How would they be divided? He started to visualise himself picking them up on a Saturday morning, taking them to the zoo, but his chest hurt when he did this. No, no, no. Absolutely not. Jacko sighed, impatient already to turn Billie into the kind of wife he needed and deserved.
Improving Billie:
College evening classes? English lit?
Money – back to work part-time? Kelly Girl – temping in an office?
Budget. Evening classes on finances?
Food. Get her to try one new thing a week. Smoked salmon?
In the same way a rich man was more careful with his money than a poor man, a beautiful woman was more careful of her appearance than a plain woman. More rode on it. Jacko teased Billie about letting herself go a bit, and this upset her because she was trying so hard not to let herself go. He had no idea the daily effort she still made, even at home with the kids. Sometimes she practised smiling in the mirror. Just to check no flaws were advancing, like crow’s feet or turkey neck. Any kind of bird resemblance at all.
There she was right now, sitting in the park, squinting into her compact mirror. Four-year-old Sam was digging elaborate roads in the sandpit while two-year-old Elisabeth hovered near him, scooping sand randomly over the edge onto the paving. She had a cold, and there were shiny streaks running from her nose like snail tracks. It was so foggy, Billie could hardly see her children, even though her bench was only a few feet away. So foggy, her own reflection looked ghostly, her blond hair almost greyish-white. She licked her lips and applied lipstick over them, baring her teeth to do so. She frowned when she noticed a rogue eyebrow hair, quickly grabbed hold of it between thumb and finger and yanked hard. She smoothed her hair down with her hand and re-pinned the hair clip, which kept her forehead free of bangs.
Last night was terrible. She tried to replay his accusations, to think of better replies, but the children kept intruding.
‘Mommy! Wanna play with Sam!’ An early talker, her enunciation was perfect.
‘Well, but he’s a big boy Elisabeth. You don’t care about cars and roads, do you? Why don’t you make a sand cupcake, like we did yesterday.’
‘Sam, play with me!’
She was a serious little girl, stubborn and jealous. She moved closer to her brother but looked away from him. Began patting the damp sand into little humped shapes. Sam happily ignored her.
Billie sighed deeply. She loved her children, of course she did. One of each, a boy and a girl, both healthy – what more could anyone want? But she did not love them continually, and that was the problem. Right now, for instance, she felt nothing at all for them but impatience. Probably by lunch her heart would swell again, but right now she felt as separate and critical as if she’d just glanced at some stranger’s children. It was just plain annoying, the way they both interrupted her own thoughts all the time, till she had trouble remembering the most basic information. What was in the fridge for dinner? Would she ever again fit into that skirt she’d worn on their first date? When did Jacko say he’d be home? After midnight, or afternoon? If it was not mid-afternoon, maybe she could watch Days of Our Lives. Or Queen for a Day – she loved that show. It would be great if he had to do a triple shift.
From this distance, she looked back and saw that being in love had been like…joining some kind of fanatic religion, where you were not allowed time to think, or sleep, or to be private. Attraction had just been an enormous and cruel bluff. Kisses like wine were just to trick a person. And even now, she often felt a little sedated, not quite herself, as if the edges of her personality were blurring. Because he liked camping, she now spent some weekends on her knees, heating up cans of stew outside their tent. Because he only liked some of her new friends, she’d let some friendships drift. Loud-laughing Brenda kept turning up regardless, but the rest seemed to have taken the hint. Her sister, Louise, married finally to Chuck, was coming for a visit, but Jacko was not crazy about Chuck, so she’d have to discourage them from staying too long. Because Jacko didn’t like beans, she’d given up one of her favourite foods. Because he was the only one earning, she couldn’t buy a pretty dress on impulse. Who was she now, really? If she wasn’t a tent-hating, bean-loving, Brenda-friend, impulse dress-buyer, who was she? Some days it felt like her younger, pre-Jacko self was struggling to keep her mouth above the water, gasping for air.
‘Mom! Tell her to shove off! She’s ruining my tunnel!’
‘Elisabeth honey, come here.’
‘No.’
‘Look at her! Stop her!’
‘Lizzy, look what I’ve got in my bag! Cheetos! Sam, stop it. Stop shoving your sister.’
Elisabeth fell backwards onto the hard paving and howled. Snot ran into her mouth. Billie scooped her up, wiped her face with a Kleenex while managing to protect her own blouse from snot and dust. She carried her back to the bench, searched for and found the bottle of milk she’d told herself just that morning to stop giving Elisabeth, she was way too old. Popped it into her mouth, till her lips closed round the teat and began to suck.
‘Sorry, Sam. It’s a wonderful road system you’re making.’
‘You always give her what she wants.’ He pouted for a second, but his pride was soothed. Billie could tell by the way his eyes lit up, and he tilted his head. He was such a quick forgiver. Vain, but big hearted too. Oh, she may not continually feel love for her children, but, my goodness, she knew them inside out.
You always give her what she wants.
Last night’s fight finally came back, and her one good line. After he’d shouted, she’d gone quiet to col
lect her thoughts, then hissed:
‘The trouble with you, Jacko, is simple. You want everything your own way, but you don’t want to live alone. Do you? No, you do not. Sure, you hate me, but you wouldn’t know where to start without me.’
Oh! How good that had felt! Like hitting a target.
What could he say? What could he do? Except storm out and slam the door so hard, the Van Gogh chair picture toppled off the wall. Of course, he’d been back within the hour. Not many places to go in Piggleston, aside from Lacey’s Lounge, and that was the other side of town.
Usually she let Jacko decide when they made love. But last night, to try and make up, and because it was Valentine’s Day, she ran her hand up under his T-shirt and gently run her fingers across his back and shoulder. Then around to the front, further down. But his breathing had slowed and eventually a snorting snore commenced. She’d blushed with shame in the dark. Sleep came eventually, but fitfully.
She rubbed her eyes now, remembering. Sam was making car noises, and Elisabeth was drifting off to sleep on her lap. She should really get them home, make some lunch, do some housework. Maybe if she got out the playdough, they’d let her watch As the World Turns. Getting a television had changed her life. Yes, she’d relax on the sofa, in front of the television. No point in fretting over Jacko. This morning, he’d seemed normal enough. He had accepted the brown bag lunch she’d packed for him: boloney sandwich, apple, potato chips. She’d slipped in a home-made Valentine, written in crayon. Billie & Jacko forever. He wouldn’t see it till he opened the sandwich bag.
They were on a budget, a very tight budget which was checked monthly, painstakingly, by Jacko. Last night had been budget night, hence the fight. In the beginning, when they had both been working and before the babies, they’d happily eked out their pennies, rewarding themselves with occasional bottles of bubbly and nights at the movies. Their frugality had made them a team, but these days it underlined their very different teams. She spent, Jacko earned. He interrogated and reprimanded her, if he felt that (for instance) artichoke hearts were an extravagance, or she had no real need for a new bra when the old ones were still in her top drawer. Buying him a present was doubly dangerous. Impossible to predict exactly what he’d like, and equally risky to gauge how much to spend, since he regarded the money as his. It was all a little humiliating.
‘Why haven’t you filled in all these check stubs? Must be half a dozen blank, I have no idea what you spent, or on what. How do you expect me to balance the budget?’
She’d meant to, she’d shoved the receipts in her bag meaning to do it later, but then she’d forgotten. She’d shouted back:
‘What difference does it make? The money is spent! Don’t you trust me to spend it wisely? Don’t you respect me? You should respect my judgment.’
The kids had been asleep. She’d shouted and he’d shouted, but a subdued, controlled shouting because waking the children was the number one sin.
Then his voice had become very quiet. He spoke as if speaking to a very young child.
‘You cannot spend it if we do not have it. That’s how it works, Billie. The bank charges me money every time you spend more than I have.’
Pause.
‘Billie?’
Pause.
She had no idea what he earned. It was not a wife’s business to know that.
‘I can’t live this way,’ she’d told him at last, quietly. ‘I will not live like we’re poor, counting every penny, always getting the cheapest things. It isn’t necessary. We are not poor. Anyway, it isn’t like you deprive yourself of the luxuries. Look at your shirt, Brooks Brothers isn’t the cheapest, is it? And your darn car. That MG.’
‘I thought you loved that car.’
‘I do, Jacko. For goodness sake, that’s not my point. Why do you get to be extravagant but never me?’
‘Why?’ For a second he’d smiled his silly, naughty smile. ‘Because I get up and go to a job I hate every day. Because I work hard, Goddammit. What do you do? It isn’t fair. Look at this place! A pigsty. I work my butt off while you do nothing but watch daytime television.’
Then she’d had her inspiration, her moment of clarity, and shot him with the line about him always wanting everything his way but being unable to live alone. He had kicked Elisabeth’s building blocks and left the house, slamming the door, while all her outrage swelled up and had no place to go. It clogged her throat. She’d been unable to eat anything for hours. Oh, it made her blood boil even now. If the roles were reversed, how would he feel if she shouted at him for…for buying a tie he liked? She decided the problem was he didn’t know her any more. But she didn’t really know him any more either. She felt this knowledge hover, recognising it as an older feeling. It had been coming, she’d just been too tired and busy to say hello to it.
So, as she bundled her children back to the warm house to make lunch, she accepted the new equation. What else could she do? Adrenalin coursed through her; it felt like an emergency. How could her marriage feel in such danger, when it was only five years old?
‘Mom! Slow down! Wait for me.’
She looked back guiltily at Sam, skinny legs running to catch up. She stopped the stroller and waited, though Elisabeth wakened and began to cry. She automatically checked to make sure she had her purse, the baby bottle, Sam’s green teddy that came everywhere. The check she did a dozen times a day. Yep, all accounted for. Both children also accounted for. Off they go!
By the time the hot dogs were on the table, she’d made up her mind. She would get to know this stranger. This moody critical husband of hers. She’d get to know him and she’d seduce him, darn him! Her marriage would be a success. She had an urge to…what was this feeling? It was so familiar, but felt unusual, like an item of once loved clothing suddenly come across at the back of the closet. Oh yeah. She wanted to talk to her sister, Louise. Tell her about Jacko being so unreasonable. She began to dial, but then stopped. No, no, this would not do. Billie was not going to admit her failure to Louise, though she had a sudden lurch of homesickness. For California, for San Fransisco Bay, for the proximity of her family.
Only 1:20. Was this afternoon ever going to end?
Her mother arrived the following week. The children hid behind the sofa when she walked in.
‘Helluva place to live,’ she announced. ‘Ugliest town I ever saw. The streets ain’t got no signs! Been driving around for an hour.’
‘What a surprise!’ said Jacko. ‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have met you downtown so you could follow me back.’
‘Would you like some iced tea, Mom?’ Billie asked, taking her suitcase.
‘Beer,’ she grunted. ‘No, make that bourbon. Jeez, I’m tuckered out.’
She plopped herself on the sofa, kicked off her shoes, and the hidden children sniggered.
‘I can see you two, so you may as well come out right now and give me a hug and kiss, seeing as how I’ve just spent an entire lifetime getting to you.’
Sam and Elisabeth froze, looked at each other, then raced around the sofa and jumped on her, kissing her wildly.
‘What brings you here?’ asked Jacko, slightly awkward. The children never kissed him like that.
‘Eh?’
‘Mom’s going to look after the kids this weekend, so we can get a break. Isn’t that sweet of her?’
‘Really? Wow. That is fantastic. Thank you! You’re wonderful.’
‘I friggin know that,’ she said over the children’s heads.
‘Did you call her?’ he whispered when his mother-in-law left the room for a minute.
‘No. Well, I kinda did. I wrote her.’
‘You sure your mother can cope?’
‘My mom could cope with Al Capone.’
He smiled and gave her shoulders a squeeze.
They packed small bags, and the next morning off they went. Billie and Jacko, their first trip alone in four years. They took the MG and headed south-west, towards highway 101, retracing their honeymoon
drive. The weather was good, for the time of year. Clear, but not warm enough to take the top down. The sky remained a solid blue all day, and the Pacific was also blue, only darker. In the end, they found a small hotel outside Gold Beach. It looked idyllic, but the woman who answered the door was sharp tongued and the room smelled of mildew. Still, they were alone.
He opened the champagne her mother had given them, and poured it into the glasses she’d insisted they take.
‘Here’s to your coarse-mouthed mother.’
‘Here’s to my darling mom. Who swears too much’
Jacko sat on the bed, while Billie sat in a chair.
‘We can make as much noise as we want! Come here, you.’ He wanted sex of course, right away, before dinner, and she had hoped this would happen, yet she found herself assenting tiredly.
The drive home the next day was quiet, but they told each other it had been a great break.
‘Just what the doctor ordered. Tell your mother to come more often.’ They took their time, stopped at a beach, then a restaurant for a late lunch. There was very little traffic on the road. About an hour from home, the red sports car ahead of them tried to pass a truck, and was hit by an oncoming station wagon. Before Jacko even had time to brake, they watched the much higher station wagon flick the sports car into the air like a Dinky toy. Jacko finally stopped, about the same time the station wagon screeched to a stop down the road. The driver, a man in his fifties, jumped out of his car and ran up towards them, saying:
‘Jesus fuck, I never saw it coming. Out of the fucking blue…’
‘Stay here,’ said Jacko firmly to Billie, as he got out of the car.
She was making disapproving noises with her mouth shut. The kind of noise she made when the children injured themselves, half anxious, half angry that they’d been so careless with their bodies. The noise from the accident had been horrific; there was still an occasional metallic clanging. The truck had stopped up ahead too, and the driver was running down the highway to the accident. A few other cars had slowed to a stop, and people were running and shouting. Jacko ran back and Billie asked:
Wait For Me Jack Page 25