by Sol Stein
The doorbell rang.
“Okay?” asked Jack.
The instant she kissed Jack’s cheek, she knew she shouldn’t have, but there was no reversing. “Okay,” she said, trying a smile that was supposed to convey a promise of good behavior.
Jack let Peter in. Peter closed the door of the cage behind him.
“Hello, Jack,” said Peter.
Jack ignored Peter’s extended hand.
“Hello, Rose,” said Peter.
“Hello, Peter.”
“You feeling all right?” he asked her.
“I suppose,” she said. “Under the circumstances.”
“Now, Peter,” said Jack, “sit down over here.”
Jack gestured at a chair Peter never sat in.
“You mean exactly here?”
“Yes,” said Jack, “it’ll be better if you sit there and Rose sits here and I sit in between you.”
“Sounds like a properly run dinner party,” said Peter. He thought he saw a flicker of appreciation in Rose’s eyes for the lightness of his comment.
“Now this isn’t a time for levity,” said Jack. “I’m here as Rose’s attorney, but she’s asked me to act as a friend also, and to see if some attempt can’t be made at—reconciliation, see.”
“You really hate that word, don’t you, Jack?”
“I thought with your being away three weeks,” said Rose carefully, “you might have had some second thoughts.”
“I’ve had many thoughts, Rose. I didn’t mean to give you pain. I didn’t mean to have any pain either, and I’ve had a lot of it these past three weeks.”
“Well,” she said, “if you’re genuinely sorry—”
“I am,” said Peter.
“And if you’re through with your fling—”
“It isn’t a fling. You were pretty rough on her.”
“Look what you did to me. I was desperate. I was fighting for—”
“Was it that much of a surprise? Was everything so great between us?”
“—for my life,” said Rose.
“Not your life with me, you weren’t.”
“Hey,” Jack intervened, “don’t you start turning things around.”
“Shut up, Jack,” said Peter. “Keep out of this. Rose, you’re feeling alone, but not because of me.”
“You’re out of your mind. There’s no one else—”
“Anyone who’d take on the job here. You want a breadwinner.”
“Of course,” said Rose.
“A man around the house.”
“Of course.”
“Someone to go to bed with.”
“Is there anything wrong with—”
“Someone to take you to the movies, serve as an escort, change the snow tires on the car, someone, anyone, but not necessarily me. Rose, you don’t love me. I mean me in particular. You’re just used to me in the job of husband around here.”
“That’s not true!”
“Well,” said Peter, toning down, “I was used to the same thing till I met Elizabeth.”
“What has she got to do with us?”
“I love her. Her. She loves me. Me.”
“Then what right do you think you have to come back and talk about reconciliation? Do you think I’d take you back while you’re carrying on with that woman?”
“I didn’t come to talk about reconciliation,” said Peter. “I wanted a chance to say I’m sorry about what happened on the day of the fire.” He caught the puzzled look on Jack’s face; she hadn’t told him. “And I’m sorry I brought Elizabeth here. It was stupid of me. I’m sorry about that scene. Most of all, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize us sooner. Fifteen years sooner. Mainly I came because the thing that’s killed me most, Rose, is not seeing the kids. Are they upstairs?”
The kids?” Rose whispered.
“Yes.”
“Not me?”
“Seeing you still hurts.”
“You do feel guilty.”
“Of course I do!”
“Cut the psychology crap,” said Jack, “both of you.”
“Wait a minute, Jack,” said Rose. She was very close to Peter. She spoke as if Jack weren’t in the room. “Isn’t there anything left?”
Peter, his hands clasped, saw his knuckles whiten. “You don’t just slide out of one life into another, Rose. Sure, there are memories. Feelings. You may not stay in your hometown, but you never forget it.” He turned toward the stairs. “Can I see the kids now?”
Rose quickly looked at Jack. “No,” she said.
“Well, we’ll see about that,” said Peter, but Jack had already reacted; his hand was on Peter’s shoulder. “No,” he said.
“I’m going upstairs.” Peter shot a fierce look at Jack’s hand. Jack removed it.
“They aren’t upstairs,” said Jack.
Peter turned to Rose. “Are they up there?”
“No,” said Rose, glancing anxiously at Jack, wishing he would take charge.
“Outside?” asked Peter, his anger rising.
“No,” said Rose, imploring Jack to speak.
Jack said, “Now look here, Peter, the fact is, you’re not going to see the kids.”
“What the hell—you said—”
“I wanted you to come by to get some important things straightened out. That’s why I told Rose you could come out. And Rose needed to get this reconciliation crap off her mind.”
“Please don’t talk that way,” Rose’s voice begged.
“Jack,” said Peter, facing him, “you don’t have to try to win the vulgarity cup. You’re a natural.”
“I don’t give one damn what you think about me. I’m here representing Amanda….” His voice choked its error. “I mean Rose.”
Peter turned to Rose. “You sure you want this kind of representation?”
“Jack’s a very good lawyer.”
“Our problem has very little to do with the law.”
“You’ll find out,” said Jack.
Peter flicked a murderous glance at Jack and asked Rose once more, “You sure you want him representing you?”
“Yes,” said Rose, her voice cracking in desperation.
“Okay, representative,” said Peter, giving Jack full face, “listen carefully. I haven’t seen my kids in three weeks.”
“That’s your fault,” said Jack. “Nobody told you to leave.”
A wildness raged through Peter’s head. “Rose, where are they?”
Rose remained silent.
“That’s none of your business,” said Jack.
“They’re my kids!”
“I haven’t kidnapped them,” said Rose.
“I want to see Jonathan and Margaret. Now. They’re my kids.”
“You abandoned them,” said Jack. “That’s the law.”
“I aban—you’re out of your mind. You know where I’m staying. I’ve sent a check each week.”
“The first two,” said Jack. “Rose didn’t get a check this week. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.”
“There’s money in the joint account, Rose. I told you that.”
“How about the check for this week?”
“Look,” said Peter, “I have to straighten out some embarrassing things at the bank. It’ll take a little time. I had to put down a month’s security, plus the first month’s rent for a small apartment.”
“The kids have to eat,” said Jack.
“Now cut that, if you want me to take you seriously. There’s stuff in the freezer to feed an army for a month.”
“You didn’t send a check this week.”
“I sent enough dough each of the first two weeks to keep a baseball team in steak.”
“Out of guilt!” said Rose.
“Maybe,” said Peter. “More than I could afford, anyway.”
“We want a check for three hundred thirty dollars every Monday.”
“Where the hell am I supposed to get it? I can’t argue the amount, but don’t kid yourselves, I think it’s outrageous. But
even if it were thirty-three bucks, I don’t know where I’d get it right now, and there’s no emergency.”
“Get a salary advance from your firm.”
“I wouldn’t dare ask. It’s hard enough at the office for Elizabeth and for me, too, after all the rotten stories Rose told Paul!”
“I told?”
“He said you did. You were excited. I’d hate to tell you what else he said.”
“Sell some stock,” said Jack.
“Come on now, Jack, you know my stock position.”
“I always said you were a jerk as an investor.”
“That’s not an indictable offense. I told Rose about the margin calls. Now listen, when do I get to see the kids?”
“When we’ve settled the money business, buster. When you’re paid up to date.”
“You’re holding them as hostages?”
“Three hundred thirty dollars every Monday.”
“I’m not a counterfeiter.”
“Borrow.”
“I have, you son of a— What the hell do you think I’ve been living on?”
“Borrow more.”
“I’m trying. Oh listen, you two, I had the first really lovely experience of my life asking a good friend, somebody I’ve known for years, like you, Jack, for five hundred bucks, and he said no and gave me a business reason, so I asked for two hundred dollars and he said no. I asked for one hundred dollars and he said, go back to my wife!”
“Some people don’t like what you’ve done.”
“You know damn well why what I did makes them feel uncomfortable.”
“Don’t skip the subject,” said Jack. “Three hundred thirty dollars every Monday.”
Peter’s bobsled words came rushing. “Twice I went to see old buddies in other agencies to see if I could get more money by switching jobs, and they wanted to know if the rumors about what they called ‘my personal life’ were true, and didn’t I think I ought to get my emotional problems squared away before taking on new responsibilities. Crap! I tried to get a bag of chocolate-chip cookies at Gristede’s on my way here just now, and the son of a bitch—I’ve had a charge account since we moved into the neighborhood—he asked me for cash and held onto the goddamn paper bag. What are you doing, Rose, telling everyone?”
“If you quiet down,” said Jack, “I’ll tell you a few things.”
“Like what!”
“The property settlement,” said Jack.
“I’m getting out of here,” said Peter.
“You’d better listen,” said Jack, squaring himself in front of Peter, knowing this was the time to drive it home. “Rose has possession of the car. She needs it for taking the kids to school and shopping.”
“So?” Peter tried to step around Jack.
“We want you to turn over the car to her by endorsing this registration certificate.”
Peter looked at the certificate and then up at them in bewilderment. “Is this another condition for my seeing the kids?”
Jack and Rose were soundless. Peter ripped the registration certificate in half.
“That won’t do you any good,” said Jack. “I can always get a duplicate. Now the house.”
Rose felt her hands trembling. “Do we have to do all this now, Jack?”
“Please keep quiet,” Jack told her. “Peter, you both own the house jointly.”
“That’s for tax purposes.”
“Well, we want you to sign a quitclaim deed for your half of the house. You wouldn’t want to rip the house up the middle, would you, Petey?”
“I put all I had left from my first job and from my father into the down payment on this house, and I’ve been paying back the mortgage a long, long time. I’ve got a lot of equity in this house. It’s my way of saving.”
“Rose and the kids have got to live in it,” said Jack with finality.
“Nobody’s saying no.”
“We want it to be hers legally.”
“And how the hell am I supposed to make a new life for myself if I turn everything over to her? You know what the advertising business is like. Maybe Paul will drop me. Maybe I won’t be able to get a new job. Maybe I’ll have to start a small agency of my own. I’ll need some time and some collateral to borrow money. Like a second mortgage on this house.”
“The house is hers, not yours. And so is everything in it.”
“Now look, I was a grown boy when I married Rose, and I brought some of these things into the marriage. Those paintings are mine. I bought them. Rose hates them. They just hang there because we didn’t divide the walls into his and hers.”
Rose spoke. “You can have Miss Kilter’s painting and that’s all.”
“That Buffet’s mine,” said Peter. “I discovered it.”
“Rose says it’s worth a lot of money now,” said Jack.
“Rose hates it.”
“Oh, that’s okay, we’ll sell it.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Then drop dead,” said Jack. “If it has a lot of sentimental value to you, you can buy it from Rose.”
“I can buy it from her?”
“Sure,” said Jack. “We’ll get it appraised. You can buy it at the present market price.”
“With what?”
“That’s your problem. The same goes for the hi-fi set.”
“Rose!” Peter turned on her. His face sagged with disbelief.
“Never mind Rose,” said Jack. “I’ve discussed it with her. Don’t play on her weakness because she’s a woman.”
“I built that set,” bellowed Peter. “Its value is mostly my labor.”
“You should have thought of that before you took off.”
“She doesn’t listen to it,” said Peter.
“That’s not true,” said Rose.
“Now come on, Rose, this is Peter. Who are you kidding?”
“If you keep this up,” said Rose, her voice trembling, “you’re not going to get your chair.”
“That’s my father’s chair.”
“Your father is dead,” said Jack. “Now it’s the common property of this household, which you have abandoned, and household property in this state goes to the wife.”
“Everything?”
“Everything,” said Jack.
“I don’t believe you,” said Peter. “I’ll get a lawyer. Someone who’s as big a louse as you are.”
“Good. I don’t care who you get. He’ll tell you how the courts deal with husbands who abandon their wives and children. He’ll tell you you abandoned yours the day you took your suitcase out that door. I hope you get a really experienced matrimonial type who knows the cases and knows damn well what husbands get in court. Get a big-ass lawyer. He’ll take half your hide in fees. You’ll have to keep the payments to Rose up, pay him, and pay my fees, too.”
“I pay you for putting the screws on me?”
“That’s right.”
“Now I see why some men skip.”
“You just try,” said Jack. “You’ll never see the kids again.”
Peter felt his limbs go slack. He hoped it was only resolve draining away. “I’m not that kind of man,” he said quietly, hoping for control.
“We know what kind of man you are, Peter. Stick to the facts. We want half the net value of the stock when you’ve met the margin requirements, the joint checking account, the cash in the savings account—the war bonds belong to the kids anyway—the house, the car, the furnishings, and three hundred thirty dollars a week paid before ten A.M. each Monday or you don’t see the kids that weekend.”
Peter walked closer to Rose. She couldn’t be frightened of him. Not now.
“Rose, who’s doing this to me? Are you?”
“Now never you mind,” snapped Jack. “Stick to the property settlement.”
“What you want isn’t a settlement. You’re judging me and laying down the punishment.”
“I don’t give a damn what you call it. You want to go screwing around, you’ve got to pay. That’s the law in this c
ountry.”
“And if I don’t?” asked Peter quietly.
“I’ll have you in Domestic Relations Court on Monday. Nine out of ten couples who appear before that judge speak Spanish. Not a very middle-class place, except for the photographers and newsmen. Everybody loves a scandal if Madison Avenue is involved. And with a Madison Avenue chick thrown in, it’s worth a lot of space. Would that be enough of a handle for Paul to give you the old heave-ho?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?”
With a gesture just short of a flourish, Jack removed a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Peter.
“The judge who signed that is a Catholic, and you know how they feel about divorce. You’ll walk out of court with your skin, period. Have fun with the newspapers. Or settle with us.”
The legalese on the paper swam in front of Peter’s eyes. “If there’s a lot of dirt in the papers,” he said, looking up, “I’ll never keep a job in my trade that’ll pay the money you’re asking for.”
“Read that paper,” said Jack.
“I’ve read it,” said Peter, lying.
“Monday, ten A.M., Domestic Relations Court.”
“Now Jack, for old tim’es sake, listen to me.”
“I’m listening.”
“Don’t make me beg.”
“Peter?” It was Rose.
Peter looked at her. She seemed the Rose of long ago, the pretty face before it had hardened.
“Come back,” said Rose.
Peter spoke very gently. “You don’t want me, Rose, even if I could.” He turned to Jack. “I need something left. I’ll need to furnish a place, even the minimum.”
“I’m not interested in your problems,” said Jack.
Rose again. “Peter, come back. We’ll work something out.”
“We can’t, Rose.”
“We’ve fought before,” she said.
“This isn’t a fight, Rose. I’m going to get married again.”
“You can’t,” said Jack.
“I’m a free man,” said Peter.
Jack laughed. “You can’t get a divorce unless Rose agrees.”
“I’ll go to Mexico.”
“The absent party has got to agree. Even in Mexico.”
Peter turned to Rose. “What good does it do to keep me from getting a divorce?”
“Nobody’s keeping you,” said Jack.
“I’m talking to Rose,” said Peter.