The Housewife Blues

by Warren Adler

  "Just put it out of your mind," she said. "Remember that song from Annie. The sun will come up tomorrow."

  "It's up," he said, frowning. "And I've got to move, lock, stock, and barrel. Uproot." He shook his head. "If only..."

  "If only what?" she asked.

  "A little breather is all." He sighed. "The miracle is that I was able to stall them for four months. Sally has no idea about the eviction. The family finances are my bailiwick. Her salary goes for Teddy's tuition and putting food on the table. Oh, she knows things are rough, but not that rough." He looked up at Jenny. "I didn't want to upset her. That's a laugh. Just look what I was about to present her with."

  "Your corpse," Jenny said with a touch of sarcasm.

  "It was either the eviction notice or that," he said. "The latter somehow seemed less painful."

  "The easy way out," Jenny said, looking at him archly.

  "So here I am." Mr. Stern chuckled wryly. "And I've still got to explain the eviction notice. No way out on that one." He grew pensive, as if he were carrying on an imaginary internalized conversation. Even his lips moved soundlessly. "Now where the hell can I come up with the back rent?" he blurted as if responding to the hidden voice. "All I need is time." He blew air between his teeth. "Fat chance." He looked up, flushing. "Babbling away like an idiot."

  "You'll come out of it," Jenny said, adopting her cheerleader mode again. "You look pretty smart to me and, judging from your quick recovery, reasonably healthy and strong. I'd say you were the kind of guy that will make it."

  He upended his coffee mug and seemed to linger behind it for more time than it would take him to swallow. Sensing his embarrassment, she berated herself for her Pollyannaish attitude. Somehow her words seemed hollow and unrealistic, as if she were talking to a straw doll instead of a flesh-and-blood human being feeling terrible pain and about to lose the roof over his head. In a strange way, she felt responsible for the man. Hadn't she brought him back to life? Rescued him? What now? She couldn't imagine why she was addressing such questions. The man was a total stranger.

  Often her parents had preached the doctrine of sharing with the less fortunate, of being helpful and kind to those in need. When their neighbors the Robinsons had gone through hard times, with Mr. Robinson out of work and Mrs. Robinson deathly ill with pneumonia, hadn't her parents come to their rescue, taking Jenny's best friend, Penny, to live with them and providing the family with food, nursing help, and, Jenny was certain, money to tide them over?

  "Good deeds come back tenfold," her father had told her. Actually it was a family litany. Being a good Christian didn't mean going to church, they had preached. And the Golden Rule was invoked at every opportunity. She remembered suddenly the incident with the homeless man. So what if he'd wanted more? Desperation made people crazy. Hadn't she just witnessed such an act?

  Watching this wretched, defeated man whose life she had saved, Jenny felt a great wave of compassion wash over her.

  "And Teddy," she remembered the man had said, too ashamed to confront "that" issue in front of her, although it was obviously a heartache for him.

  "I have something to ask you, Mr. Stern," she began tentatively. "And I hope it won't embarrass you." Above all, she thought, she mustn't take away his dignity.

  "To ask me?"

  "Would you be upset if I offered to lend you some money? You know, to tide you over until you can pay me back."

  She watched as the man's eyes seemed to wobble in his head, then became moist. His lips trembled as they tried to form a kind of smile.

  "You would do that?" he managed to say, his voice gravelly with emotion.

  "Only if it didn't offend you," she said.

  Coughing into his fist, he cleared his throat. He shook his head in disbelief. "But why?" he began, wiping away his tears.

  "Let's say I feel..." Jenny searched for a word. "Responsible. And surely you'd pay me back when you got on your feet. I have no doubt about that."

  Did she really? she wondered. Or was she superimposing her own moral sensibilities onto him?

  "I can't believe this," the man said as if he were once again starting to converse with some being inside himself.

  "Just a loan, remember."

  "I don't know what to say."

  "Say nothing. That would be a condition of the loan. Not to your wife. Or Teddy. And especially..."

  In her mind the idea of Larry's disapproval loomed menacingly, and she tried to dismiss the thought. This was her money, saved by herself. Suddenly she regretted having told Larry that she had it. Hadn't he acknowledged to her that it was hers to do with as she wished? The memory gave her a stab of resentment. Why did she need his permission? Considering his general attitude about neighbors, she wouldn't expect consent anyway. None of his business, she decided militantly, remembering her anger at not being included in the discussions about his new business.

  "As long as we keep it between ourselves," she continued, hoping he would catch her meaning without further explanation.

  "Between us. Of course," Mr. Stern said, his eyes dry now. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

  Without another word, she went into the bedroom and took her checkbook and a pen out of a drawer, then came back into the kitchen. With the checkbook open on the kitchen island, she started writing, then paused. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't know the man's first name.

  "To whom should I make it out?" she asked.

  "Barry Stern," Mr. Stern said.

  She wrote out a check for $19,000, which left approximately $1,000 in her account, then tore it out of the book and gave it to him, acknowledging to herself that in handing over the check, she felt good, as if she were fulfilling something fine and valuable in herself. The man looked at the check for a long time.

  "I can't believe it," he mumbled.

  "It won't bounce, either," she said lightly.

  "I ... I feel very funny about this. I mean, I barely know you. And here you are..."

  "I told you. It's a loan."

  "Of course it is." His eyes roamed the kitchen as if he were looking for something. "And I should sign some paper acknowledging that."

  "That won't be necessary," she said. "I feel quite certain that you'll pay me back."

  In her heart, which was bursting with magnanimity, she felt sure of it. Trust was trust. What difference would a piece of paper make? At the same time she wondered whether this was another test, a true test of her own judgment about people, a midwestern, not a New York, judgment. Or was it defiance, defiance of Larry and his opinions about the human condition?

  "I ... I don't know what to say," Mr. Stern said, tears brimming in his eyes once more. "I don't really feel I deserve this." Reaching out, he took one of her hands and moved it to his lips. "You're a saint, Mrs. Burns, a true saint. You've saved my life twice today. I feel..." He began to sob, and she gently removed her hand from his grasp and patted his head with it.

  "It's all right," she said. "You'll be fine. I know you will."

  "This is the greatest vote of confidence a man could have," he said.

  "I hope so," she said, trying to head off any additional show of gratitude, fearing that the memory of it might embarrass him later.

  He folded the check and put it in his shirt pocket, patting it to be sure it was still there. Then he stood up.

  "It's like the first day of the rest of my life," he said. "I'm sure it's the beginning of a turnaround." He smiled, took her hand again, and kissed it.

  "Now, now," she said, smiling. "And remember our bargain." She put a finger on her lips. In response he repeated the gesture, patting the check in his shirt pocket once again. He turned and moved toward the apartment door.

  "And Mr. Stern," she called. Despite her gesture, this thing with Teddy still nagged at her.

  He turned in response, his look expectant, as if he feared she had changed her mind.

  "About Teddy," she said.

  "Teddy?"

  "He's..." She hesitated. It was
impossible to get the words out. Need she do more for this man? she asked herself. "He's a fine boy, Mr. Stern. I'm sure everything will work out." Sooner or later he would discover the truth. Quite enough salvation for one day, she decided.

  "Who knows?" Mr. Stern said. "You could be my lucky charm."

  She smiled inwardly, knowing it was probably true. She liked that. She had performed the greatest good deed of all, saving his life. It felt wonderful to be a good luck charm.

  "I hope so," she said.

  He nodded, their eyes locked for a moment, then he left the apartment.

  9

  THE RICHARDSONS?" Jenny exclaimed, flabbergasted by the request.

  "Nothing overboard," Larry said. "Just a pot luck kind of thing. No pressure. Just a neighborly get-together."

  "Neighborly?"

  "You're supposed to be this big fan of neighborly, I thought it might be appropriate to give your instincts fair play."

  He had wandered into the living room from his den, where he had been working while she was watching reruns of "Dallas" on television. Sitting beside her for a while, he had watched the program without comment, which was unusual for him since he detested television in general, especially "Dallas."

  "How can these airheads possibly have so many complications in their lives?" he had once commented. And here he was sitting next to her on the couch, actually watching the show with her. It was during the commercial break that he'd made the startling suggestion.

  "Do you object?" he asked when her response seemed less than enthusiastic.

  "No. I think it's a fine idea," she said. "I'm just surprised."

  She liked Terry Richardson, although she did not feel much admiration for her husband, Godfrey, who was obviously carrying on adulterous relationships with numerous women. Jenny could not forget his little midday tryst with that bimbo. And who knew how many times he cheated outside the apartment?

  Lately, in her chance encounters with Terry in the hallways, she had noted that Terry looked tired and wan, as if she were either sick or carrying too great an emotional burden. Considering what Jenny knew, she could certainly empathize with her.

  With Godfrey she was polite but never truly friendly. He didn't look so hot himself these days, she had observed. How could he, considering the double life he had been leading?

  "When would you like to do this?" she had asked.

  "Sooner the better." His response puzzled her, but then he had mused aloud: "Once you make your mind up, it's better to act on things."

  Perhaps he was having a change of heart on the issue of neighbors, she decided, although he hadn't seemed to have had a change of heart on much else. Nearly two weeks had gone by since the dinner with Vince and Connie Mazzo, and he hadn't mentioned much about the new business, except to say that everything was going according to schedule. And he hadn't lectured her on the issue of the neighbors, which did indeed represent that he had kept at least part of his promise. This new wrinkle in his attitude might mean that he was beginning to discard some of his cynicism and paranoia about other people.

  Jenny extended the invitation to Terry on the telephone, and after a few moments of hesitation Terry accepted, although not without some guilt.

  "We should be reciprocating," Terry said. "After all, you had us first months ago."

  "Don't be silly," Jenny said, although she knew that there was a lot of truth in the allegation.

  "It's just that we're under such pressure. Besides, all we do these days is work and jump into bed in exhaustion."

  "Well, then make an exception," Jenny said. "It will be good for both of you."

  "Don't make a big deal," Terry said.

  "I was thinking spaghetti and meatballs," Jenny mused, happy for the acceptance.

  "Good. I'll make my super sauce."

  The Richardsons showed up on time a few evenings later. Terry carried a pot of sauce, and Godfrey carried a bottle of red wine.

  "Not bad," Larry said, eyeing the label and offering an uncommonly broad smile of greeting. In fact, Jenny had noticed, he had been oddly absorbed by the impending dinner, dropping strange hints of concern and worry.

  "Remember, low-key," he had reminded her on a number of occasions.

  "Does that mean paper plates?" she had joked. He hadn't laughed.

  "Not that low-key," he had answered, looking at her archly and not smiling. Lately he had seemed more self-absorbed than usual, which she attributed to the pressures involved in starting the new business. Still, he had continued to be less than forthcoming on that subject, and she had deliberately not added to the pressure by probing too deeply.

  Both Richardsons looked tired, and although Terry seemed cheery, her sad eyes belied her upbeat manner. Jenny dismissed any further analysis, although based on her observations of Godfrey's behavior, it did cross her mind that they might be having serious marital difficulties.

  Jenny and Terry went into the kitchen, leaving Larry to play host to Godfrey in the living room.

  "A few little odds and ends yet to get the sauce up to prizewinning par," Terry said. "Needs a couple of nice Bermuda onions."

  Jenny brought out the onions and put them on the chopping block. She had already put up the big pasta pot to boil and had rolled the meatballs and put the salad makings into the wooden salad bowl.

  As she sliced away at the onions, Terry kept up a steady patter of talk.

  "This is one great idea, Jenny. I can't remember how long it's been since I had any fun. We really should do this more often, don't you think? Only next time I want you and Larry to come up to my place." Her talk went on and on while Jenny supplied the acknowledgments in the appropriate places.

  After a while Godfrey came in with a bottle of opened white wine and two glasses. He poured each of the women a glass and put the bottle down on a corner of the cutting board. Jenny noted that he stopped for a moment to observe his wife, whose eyes were tearing from the onions.

  "You okay?" he whispered.

  "Of course I'm okay," she snapped. "It's these damned onions."

  "You promised," he whispered.

  "I told you, it's the onions."

  Jenny felt embarrassed at overhearing the exchange and tried to appear as if she hadn't heard by mixing the salad with more enthusiasm than was warranted. But after he had gone, Terry seemed less bouncy.

  "Wine's good," she said after a deep sip.

  Jenny noted that Larry had opened his very best white, which by his own word had been bought to be used only for special occasions.

  "Damned onions," Terry said, rubbing her moist eyes with her sleeve.

  "Let me," Jenny said.

  "No. It's fine." She had turned away from the cutting board and upended her wineglass. Jenny took the bottle and came around to refill Terry's glass. Facing her at that distance, Jenny noted that there seemed to be more to her tears than the onions. Also her hands shook as she proffered the glass for the wine.

  "Jesus, look at me," Terry said. With her other hand she steadied the glass and brought it up to her lips, taking another deep sip.

  "Are you all right?" Jenny asked, deliberately trying to appear unprovocative.

  "Do I look not all right?" Terry said, a slight tremor noticeable on her lips as she spoke. Then she shook her head vigorously. "No. That is an unfair question."

  "I can finish the onions," Jenny said, hoping to avoid the confession that she sensed was about to emerge. She hated the idea of having to listen as Terry recounted her husband's infidelities, as if somehow her silence made her culpable. She resumed chopping the onions, aware that Terry was studying her, perhaps trying to determine whether or not to confide her misery.

  "Jesus, Jenny. It's been awful." The woman began to sob, her shoulders shaking as she braced her palms against the sink. Jenny's heart went out to her, and she felt it impossible not to respond.

  "Really, Terry. It couldn't be that bad."

  Jenny imagined herself in that position, imagined her reaction. Betrayal, she suppos
ed, hurt a great deal, as if something valuable were lost. She wanted to embrace Terry, comfort her. As she was about to do so, she realized that her hands were moist with onion juice.

  Terry bent over the sink, turned on the tap, scooped up water, and patted her face. Then she stood up and, facing Jenny, sucked in a deep breath.

  "I promised him. He sees me like this it will only make things worse."

  Jenny was confused by the statement and must have shown it.

  "It's not his fault, you see," Terry said, her reddened eyes beginning to clear.

  "Not his fault?"

  "Actually I blame myself mostly for waiting too long. Pursuing my career. My fucking career."

  Jenny thought that Terry would begin crying again, but she somehow recovered, finished her wine, then poured herself another glass. Even though Terry seemed to be speaking in shorthand, Jenny realized that her unhappiness didn't appear to have anything to do with infidelity, but with infertility. Apparently they hadn't had much luck on that score.

  "It's ... it's psychological. Common, the doctors say. Oh, I feel terrible about even telling you, but who the hell can you talk to about this, except doctors, and all they can say is that there is nothing organically wrong."

  "That's good, then," Jenny said. "Isn't it?"

  "Good? Horrible. Worse than horrible."

  "Well, if there's nothing organically wrong..."

  "Jenny," Terry said, her tone on the cusp of intimidating, "don't you understand? He can't get it up. He can't fuck. He can't even masturbate. In case you haven't heard, the sperm is in the ejaculate. And nothing seems to help. Nothing." The outburst disintegrated into hysteria. "We're going crazy over this. It's frustrating, maddening, and the damned clock keeps ticking away."

  Now Jenny was totally confused. The man was philandering and he couldn't have intercourse? God, she thought, did I have that wrong.

  "Jenny, I swear. I'd do anything. It sounds bizarre, doesn't it? I adore Godfrey. I love him. I want his baby. Our baby. All he needs to do is come and take the ejaculate to the fertility clinic for processing. Sounds simple, right? It's not. Dammit, I'd let him do it with anyone just to get the right stuff. I'd welcome it. But I'm scared to death to even suggest it."