The Housewife Blues

by Warren Adler

  Watching Terry agonize over the situation, Jenny could barely correlate the information. She berated herself for being smug and judgmental, even sanctimonious. And yet, observing Terry's genuine pain, she still harbored doubts. It was possible that the woman who came up to meet Godfrey was nothing more than a sex object, hired to induce his orgasm. Such a situation was simply out of her realm of experience, although it did have a logical twist that made her feel ashamed of her original assumptions. The perception of evil in terms of Godfrey disintegrated, and her sense of compassion accelerated. She apologized in her heart to Godfrey. Nothing in Manhattan is ever as it seems, she thought, wondering why she had never encountered these matters in Bedford. Not that they weren't happening, but it was the kind of thing that Bedfordians kept hidden and suffered silently.

  "So here I am laying it on you," Terry said. "Godfrey would be enormously embarrassed if he knew I had told you. It's worse for him, since it strikes, well, right at the heart of his manhood. Believe me, I've learned a lot about men from this experience. Men really define themselves by their hard-ons. It sounds awful to the ear, almost obscene, but it's a fact that we women don't fully comprehend. Erection, insertion, ejaculation. It's programmed into their maleness, and if the first fails, the others go down like dominoes. I can cry for every time I turned him down. Not that we girls are supposed to be blindly compliant, but a little insight and understanding could have gone a long way. A man really needs the comfort of this triad. Probably more so than a woman. Damn, I sound like a shrink. I feel so terrible for him. The next step is an impotency clinic, although he's not quite worked himself up to go. Listen, how many times"—Terry lowered her voice—"how many times when you were single did you confront ... you know ... a temporary failure? Remember how reassuring you were, probably saying it's okay, even when you were hot as a firecracker. Well, I've reached the limit of reassurance with poor Godfrey."

  Terry's words, Jenny admitted to herself, were indeed harsh on the ears. She had never heard such direct intimate talk from another woman, nor had she ever confided such things to anyone. By no means was she a sexual prude, not in her actions, but putting it into words made her uncomfortable, although it in no way diminished her sympathy for the plight of her neighbors.

  "Sex used to seem so forbidden, exotic, a secret thing, even deliciously dirty," Terry continued, her voice now a whisper. She had moved her face closer to Jenny's, who felt the breeze of her words and smelled the scent she used, less subtle at this distance. "A lot of my girlfriends hate sex. I love to fuck. I love to come. I love to make him come. Tell you the truth, I've tried everything. Everything. When he's sleeping I peek under the covers and look at those lovely involuntary hard-ons, which happen when normal men sleep, but as soon as I make my move, down it goes again." She looked squarely into Jenny's eyes. "I'm at my wits' end. Now, for example, right now, it's right in the middle of my cycle, the perfect time. I feel so damned..." She paused for a moment, and her voice rose. "So inadequate. So helpless. My heart goes out to him. I don't know what to do, and I'm scared to death that his libido may be permanently deceased."

  Jenny hoped she had hidden her sense of shock, which was compounded by this latest revelation. She could remember only two times in her single life when a male had failed to function, and yes, she had said those things that Terry had mentioned. But they were exceptions. Her general experience with the four men she'd been intimate with before her marriage was that men reacted, got hard. Sometimes they needed a little help, but invariably they rose to the occasion. The episodes of impotence had been temporary, very temporary. In her experience they'd all had the opposite malady.

  Jenny could not possibly be as blunt as Terry in assessing her sexual needs, but the truth was that she had learned to like sex. She liked it a lot, and she had been an apt pupil, especially with Darryl, the older married man with whom she'd had an affair. The most important thing he had taught her was that nothing was forbidden during the sex act between consenting adults, although she admittedly liked both the fore and afterplay and a sense of mystery and romance to go along with it.

  She and Larry had sex often. It wasn't satisfying every time, especially lately, which Larry attributed to having weighty things on his mind. At the beginning of their relationship, they would think nothing about having sex two or even three times a day. During the past few weeks, they hadn't made love more than three or four times. Not that she would complain. That would be unwomanly.

  He liked her to be wanton and sometimes aggressive and had often told her he wanted her to act like a whore when they were in bed. She wasn't sure how a whore was supposed to act. To satisfy him, she used her imagination, and she could tell by his reactions that he enjoyed great pleasure through her special ministrations. Not once did he ever have a problem getting an erection. How terrible it would be for Larry, Jenny thought, picturing him showing off his lovely erect cock. Man's best friend, he called it. A girl's, too, she told him often, and she was never shy with her compliments about his equipment.

  "I have no doubt we'll find the key to it someday," Terry said, winding down the confession. To Jenny she seemed the better for it, and the subject receded, at least verbally, as they proceeded with the preparation of the meal.

  Jenny set up the food buffet style, and they helped themselves and brought the plates back to the table, which Jenny had set nicely with lighted candles. She noted, too, that Larry had opened three bottles of their best red, for which he had paid nearly fifty dollars a bottle. When everyone had filled their plates and sat down at the table, Larry hopped up and lavishly poured the expensive red.

  "This is one great idea," Godfrey said, rolling the spaghetti on his fork.

  "You can thank Jenny," Larry said, which wasn't the truth at all.

  "You know better than that, Larry," she told him playfully. His response was a look of extreme displeasure, which conveyed the puzzling message that she was not to pursue the matter further. To divert herself from observing his strange conduct, she drank deeply, deliberately not looking in Larry's direction. For the Richardsons he played the perfect host, refilling their glasses almost, it seemed, after every sip. She had never seen him so alert and attentive to strangers.

  "Anyway," Larry was saying, smiling broadly, addressing himself to Terry, "Godfrey has been filling me in on the ins and outs of the art business. I think I've persuaded him to be my agent when I get enough cash flow to seriously collect, which is one of my major goals." Such an objective was news to Jenny and only added to her confusion about the dinner.

  "Always ready, willing, and able," Godfrey responded. It was clear that he had bought Larry's assurances.

  "I really envision a great collection," Larry said after he had opened yet another bottle of the expensive red and had poured for the third or fourth time. "Our new agency, if all goes well, will generate lots of cash flow. We expect to open our doors in about a month."

  "Brave man," Terry said, her speech just slightly thicker than it had been in the kitchen. "Start-ups being so hazardous, especially now." She had successfully masked her anguish, although it was obvious that she was drinking more than might be usual for her.

  "It's not exactly a start-up," Larry said, explaining, with full concentration on Terry, what he called his business plan. "So you see," he continued, "we don't qualify for the usual definition of start-up. We have the accounts, the creative talent to carry out our programs. And, of course, the facilities and the management."

  "What about capital?" Terry asked, still, despite the wine, in full charge of her faculties.

  "We're interviewing banks," Larry said almost offhandedly, as if he were indifferent to the process. "Actually the technical management side is my turf, the creative and sales, my partner's."

  "Mr. Inside and Mr. Outside," Jenny blurted, feeling the first signs of alcoholic euphoria. The slight buzz had not interfered with her logic, since it had suddenly occurred to her what this dinner was all about, a revelation that was remarkabl
y sobering. The name of the game was, as she had learned by her very cursory exposure to the advertising business, to set up Terry for a pitch, which, with Jenny's help, Larry had done quite efficiently.

  Jenny watched as Larry bore in on Terry, whose level of alertness seemed, oddly, to have increased with her imbibing. To Jenny, Terry's attitude, despite her anguish and drinking, spoke aeons about her career commitment.

  "Anyone for seconds?" Jenny asked, eliciting a menacing look from Larry.

  "They'll take it if they want it," Larry grumbled.

  "I've got to save something for dessert," Terry said. Larry shook his head and shot Jenny a look of exasperation. She knew why, of course. She had interrupted his pitch.

  "Basically," she heard Larry say, "we're looking for a revolving line, say three hundred thou to begin with. Signatures, naturally. Interest only for the first year. One point above prime, max. Of course later, if we're both happy, we'd expect prime."

  Terry nodded and was silent for a while.

  "Compensating balances?" she asked.

  Jenny had the urge to find out what that meant and began to speak.

  "What are..." she began, swiveling her gaze toward Larry. He shot her a vicious look, and she beat a hasty retreat, although she exchanged glances with Godfrey, who appeared to be frowning, as if he didn't approve of Larry's attitude.

  "Not off the bat," Larry replied with a shrug.

  "Tough deal," Terry said, shaking her head. She held out her glass for Larry to pour.

  "I'll see about the dessert," Jenny said.

  "Dammit, Jenny!" Larry erupted. "We're trying to talk important stuff here."

  "Dessert is important," Jenny snapped, getting up.

  "Need any help, Jenny?" Terry said, starting to stand.

  "She'll be fine," Larry said, patting Terry's hand. "No need," he told her, smiling. She sat down again.

  "Let me," Godfrey said, getting up.

  "Really, Godfrey," Jenny protested, but mildly.

  "We'll let these two do their tap dance," Godfrey said.

  "Homemade apple pie á la mode coming up," Jenny cried, forcing herself to be cheerful. "Vanilla or strawberry, folks?"

  "Strawberry," Terry piped.

  "Anything," Larry muttered, scowling at her. "You pick it."

  She went into the kitchen. Godfrey followed her.

  "You scoop, I'll slice," Jenny said.

  She busied herself with cutting pieces of pie while Godfrey scooped the requested flavors out of the boxes. She noted that he had scooped up a ball of vanilla for himself. As he did so, he seemed to be studying her intensely.

  "Is he always that uptight?" Godfrey asked.

  "I guess the pressure's getting to him," she replied.

  "Pressure. Yeah. I know what you mean. He should be thankful. He's a lucky man to have such a pretty young wife."

  Bells went off in her head. Was he coming on to her, being flirtatious or just friendly? Then she remembered what Terry had mentioned about his problem, which made her more curious than uncomfortable.

  "And you're a lucky guy to have a girl like Terry," she said.

  "Yes, I am," he said in agreement, "but that doesn't prevent me from admiring beautiful, sexy women."

  "I thank you for the compliment, kind sir," she said, moving back into the dining room. Larry and Terry were still absorbed in their conversation. They barely looked up when she and Godfrey sat down.

  "There's room for talk," Larry said, obviously having recovered his momentum and now launching yet another assault of salesmanship and charm. "We admit to being aggressive and highly creative and wanting to do business with banks and other entities, with people who are winners. People like yourself, Terry. People with brains and savvy. Watch our dust. We've already expanded our client base, and we won't be in business for a month yet."

  "I assume you've got personal statements," Terry interjected.

  "Of course. Mine and my partner's," Larry said. "We've got a detailed package of papers that will pass any loan committee. Believe me, the risk will be minimal, and we'll grow into terrific customers for any bank. The day of the super ad agency is numbered. We're specialists and perfectly positioned in the right place at the right time, just after an industry shakeout."

  Jenny and Godfrey ate their desserts silently, exchanging glances occasionally while Larry and Terry pursued their business discussion. Noting that she and Godfrey had finished theirs, Jenny collected the empty plates and went back into the kitchen.

  At that moment the inside door buzzer rang.

  "Would you get that, Larry?" Jenny called from the kitchen, pretending that she was too busy to answer it. She wanted to break up their conversation.

  "Can't even have a quiet dinner at home," Larry grouched, shaking his head. He got up from the table and flung open the door. "Oh, Christ. Not again," he muttered.

  It was Jerry O'Hara from downstairs, looking harassed and apologetic as he always did when looking for his cat.

  "I'm so sorry to interrupt—"

  "No cat here. Just us folks," Larry muttered, beginning to close the door in Jerry's face.

  "Thank you, but you see—"

  "Why don't you chain him to a pipe or something?" Larry snapped. "This is getting ridiculous."

  "Chain Peter?" The man looked aghast.

  "Or worse," Larry said. He turned to the Richardsons. "You see his damned cat?"

  "Afraid not," Terry said without rancor.

  "Have you tried the Sterns?" Godfrey volunteered.

  "Actually, Teddy Stern is out combing the neighborhood. Peter is such a bad boy."

  "Yes. Such a bad, bad boy," Larry mocked, moving his arm, the wrist deliberately limp.

  "I know it's a nuisance and I apologize for that, but he does mean a lot to us."

  "Considering all the trouble he causes," Larry sneered, "you might consider sending him off to the glue factory." He looked to the others, obviously hoping for laughter. None came.

  "I can see you're not a cat person, Mr. Burns."

  "Well then, there's nothing wrong with your eyes."

  "Not at all," O'Hara snapped, sucking in a deep breath and turning away. Larry pushed the door shut with a slam.

  "Damned fairies and their fucking cat," Larry said sourly, going back to the table.

  "Here we are," Jenny said, hiding her own disgust at his conduct. She marched in with a tray filled with little cakes, cookies, a coffeepot, and cups and saucers. Larry was having difficulty hiding his exasperation.

  Shaking his head and shooting Jenny still another disgruntled look, Larry got up from the table and took a sheaf of papers from the breakfront drawer and laid them in front of Terry. He moved her pie á la mode dish to give the paper more room. Then he pushed aside his own plate with what Jenny thought was a note of dismissal, rejecting the dessert as a kind of punishment aimed at her.

  "It's a pro forma," Larry said, trying with some success to regain his poise. "And I know how bankers view pro formas." Terry studied the papers as she ate.

  "Coffee, anyone?" Jenny trilled.

  "I'll have a cup," Terry said, her attention diverted.

  Jenny poured out a cup for Terry.

  "And I'll have one," Godfrey said. He seemed to have entered Jenny's little game of interruption.

  "If you have any questions—" Larry began.

  "Cream or sugar, Terry?" Jenny asked.

  Peripherally she could see Larry's features tighten with exasperation, but she deliberately kept her eyes averted from his.

  "Just black, thank you," Terry replied.

  "But I'll have cream," Godfrey said.

  She poured the cream into his coffee. Terry concentrated on reading the pro forma while Larry peered over her shoulder.

  "Coffee, Larry?"

  "Just pour it, Jenny."

  "Cookies, anyone?" Jenny asked.

  "Jenny, dammit," Larry said, making an obvious effort to hold his temper. "Can't you just leave us alone for a moment?"


  "Good idea," Godfrey said. "Let's take our coffee into the living room while these tycoons mull over their millions."

  "They won't miss us," Jenny said. It was her turn now to shoot Larry a nasty look. He was too absorbed to notice.

  "So how's the art business?" Jenny asked when they were seated side by side on the living room couch.

  "Lousy." Godfrey shrugged, sipping his coffee.

  "Boom and bust," she said, smiling. "What goes down comes up and vice versa."

  "So I'm told," he responded gloomily. He looked toward the dining room, where Larry and Terry were intent in their discussion. Then he turned toward Jenny and studied her.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "When I first saw you, I thought you were still in your teens." He laughed. "Curly mop. Small. Like—"

  "Little Orphan Annie."

  "You said it, not me."

  "It's part of my charm. One of my old boyfriends used to call me his Lolita." She had thought suddenly of Darryl. "Lots of guys think there's something vulnerable about small women. When I was a kid, I hated to be smaller. Actually I'm not that short. Five two."

  "And well made," he said, averting his eyes in embarrassment as he finished off the coffee. His obvious interest in her aroused her curiosity still further. Was this a man with a dead libido?

  "So is Terry. From what I can see."

  "Very. I can assure you. The most wonderful woman in the world."

  Jenny studied him for some sign of his condition, an underlying sadness, perhaps, or some similar clue. She searched his eyes, imagining she was detecting his hidden pain. At the same time she was embarrassed by the knowledge that Terry had imparted about his deeply personal crippling condition.

  As she observed him, she realized that something drastic had altered in her perception of him. Jenny could not imagine him being less than sexually functional. He certainly was attractive, with light gray searching eyes surrounded by dark lashes. His hair was blond, with natural waves, his figure slender and graceful. He filled out his jeans well, crotch included, and his open sport shirt revealed a patch of curly blond chest hairs.