The End of Men

by Karen Rinaldi

  “Jason, what are we going to do with three? I can barely handle the job with two kids. Three is going to put me under. And now more than ever I have to keep my job, or how else can we afford it?” Tears ran down Anna’s face.

  Jason took Anna’s shoulders and tried to get Anna to look at him, but she turned her head away. “Baby, one more kid isn’t going to put us under. We’ll be fine.”

  “You’ll be fine, Jason.” Anna turned back to look directly into Jason’s eyes as anger overtook her tears. “You don’t have to leave the house every day to go to a job. You’re not the one who worries about whether the nanny, and the mortgage, and the 529 plans are paid in full each month. You won’t have to work through nine months of pregnancy. You will be fine. I, however, will not be fine. And I don’t even know what I’m saying, because more than anything else, I want another child. I just don’t know if I can handle it all.” She broke down again into sobs.

  Jason pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her body and buried his face in her neck. “Anna, listen, if you don’t want to work anymore, let’s talk about what we can do. I’m sure we can find a solution.” Jason’s tone was calm.

  “Jason, you don’t make any money. What do we do for money if I don’t work? What do we do for health insurance? Seriously, what could we possibly do?” She didn’t mean to say it with contempt, but she heard the words come out thick with it. “Do you even know how much money we spend every month? You don’t. You’re so preoccupied with your drawings that you don’t take a minute to think about the household income, much less how you could contribute to it.”

  “That’s not true, Anna. I do think about it. I’ve got a lot of different projects going right now; one of them is sure to pay off.” His voice had a hard edge to it now.

  “What payoff? Have you ever done the math? It’ll take three of your projects seen to completion just to get you out of debt. And that’s only if they all go through. By the time they’re finished, you’ll have so much more debt that you won’t be any further along. If I don’t work, we lose everything. Money isn’t magic, Jason, it doesn’t come because you need it. Why do I even have to say these things to you?”

  “I’m not a fool, Anna. Of course I understand the situation. I don’t plan on being broke forever. I really believe that the work I do will give us a payday.” Jason’s voice had suddenly grown tired. Anna knew this conversation cost him, but she did nothing to make it otherwise. He continued: “But if you’re going to make me say it, yes, until then, we depend on you to make the living for the family.”

  “So how do we pay the rent then, Jason, if I don’t work? Admit it, I have no choice.”

  “But you can’t say that you work only to make money for the family, because that is only part of it. You love it, Anna. You work for you, and you know that. I’m not saying that it isn’t difficult; I’m saying that it isn’t as simple as you make it sound.”

  Anna knew there was truth to what Jason was saying, but that didn’t mitigate the resentment she was feeling toward her husband. Her mother had made the same point to her months earlier. Anna and Isabel had been clearing the table after a Ducci family dinner when Marie, Mama Ducci, suggested, “Anna, you look tired. Go take a break. Isabel and I can take care of the dishes. Jason can watch the boys for a few minutes.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Ma, I’m fine. Certainly fine enough to clean up after dinner,” Anna argued.

  “You do too much. Go rest,” Marie insisted.

  “Not doing the dishes is not the rest I need,” Anna said, taking the bait and regretting it immediately.

  “Boy, oh boy, men have it made these days . . . you do it all, don’t you? No, Anna, what you need is more help at home.” Marie landed the point in a self-satisfied tone.

  “Don’t tell me what I need!” Anna hated being so predictably defensive.

  Her mother’s expression grew serious as she stood in front of Anna and grabbed her hands. “Sometimes you have to admit that you need some help. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

  Anna shook her mother’s hands away. “Too late for what? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  Isabel stepped in before it got too ugly. “Enough bickering from you two. I need help with these pots and pans.”

  Anna had a hard time making her mother understand that Jason was not the problem. One of the many things Anna loved about her husband from the very beginning was his willingness to shoulder his share of the domestic duties. Jason didn’t have macho issues and was not averse to the work historically allotted to the mislabeled “gentler” sex. He’d just as soon wear an apron as a tool belt, or take the boys to the park as chair a board meeting. Anna had never met anyone like him before. She knew all this in her heart, knew that one of the reasons she could stand to be with Jason was that he gave her the room to fully develop outside of their life together. Every other man Anna had ever known couldn’t bear, in the end, that Anna had a life apart from the one they shared. Jason was different.

  “Jason, I feel crazy right now, and I don’t think it’s because of the raging hormones of early pregnancy.” Anna was speaking calmly again. “I feel like I have to—that we have to—make a change, and I can’t imagine what that would be. I’m scared that I’m just going to stop—stop being able to pick up my children when they cry, stop being able to smile at them, stop being able to appreciate what you and I have together.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Beth

  BETH PEERED DOWN from her office window at the protestors crowding the length of the block. Momentarily doubtful that they could exist this late in human development, she checked her desk calendar as if it might provide a clue. Having confirmed that the twenty-first century had indeed arrived—but had not improved her understanding of why people still behaved with such vehement ignorance this far along in so-called civilization—Beth registered the date, June 21. It was eight years ago to the day that she had found out that her husband was HIV positive. She had witnessed his slow decline ever since. While advances in education and medicine had finally made inroads to controlling the virus, all this had done for Beth’s now ex-husband, Paul, was to give him a false sense of safety he worked hard to maintain.

  Beth’s phone lit up with calls. She ignored them, letting her assistant intercept the barrage, and picked up the open line to call Maggie, her head of PR. “Maggie, remind me not to get out of bed on this date in the future.” She was referring to the situation with Paul and the one at hand, but then thought better about opening up that subject. It would waste precious time neither of them had at the moment.

  “Sure thing. Hang on a sec, Beth. Lily just emptied an entire box of Rice Krispies into the toilet, including the box, and I’m trying to fish it out of the bowl . . . Okay, tell me, what’s up?”

  Beth switched her attention to the more immediate crisis and gave Maggie a quick breakdown of the situation developing outside the office. “Can all these people really have such a problem with underwear? They’re worse than animal rights activists. Anyway, I’m sure this is all good for us, so no reason to complain about it, right?” Beth was more amused than annoyed.

  The new line of lingerie for pregnant and lactating women was selling 50 percent faster than they had forecasted. In the past month, overall sales had shot through the roof with the launch of RHM’s first two print ads, reproduced and displayed in larger-than-life-sized backlit boxes in the storefront windows and strategically placed around the city and on billboards along local highways. The madness of the day proved the ads had touched a nerve—activists from both sides of the aisle were going nuts. The public display of sheer nursing bras and oversized lacy thongs for women in their third trimester had apparently sent people reeling. Beth wondered if it was the products themselves that were considered offensive or that RHM had enlisted America’s sweetheart, tennis pro Agnes Seymour, to model the pieces while nursing her newborn.

  Beth railed against the mob below for a few minutes as Maggie lis
tened patiently on the other end of the line.

  “Are you ready to get all of this down?” Beth had finished with her tirade and had moved on to discuss the specifics.

  A masterful multitasker, Maggie was ready.

  “Okay, so we’ve got Page Six and the Times trying to interview me and Seymour,” Beth said, her voice a staccato of excitement. “New York magazine wants to do a story on RHM. Can you handle them, or do you want me to?”

  Sacha popped into Beth’s office to give her an update, which made Beth hoot with delight.

  “Apparently CNN is already on the street interviewing the protestors, and the fire department is on the way. They’re burning our nursing bras out there—how is that even possible?!”

  Maggie jumped in. “I’ll take the print, since I can do that by phone. You hang on for the cameras and the fire department. Try to be neutral—don’t fan those flames if you can help it,” she warned Beth. “Let’s allow the story to play out a bit. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  Beth knew that Maggie’s plans to make it over to RHM were less than realistic. She always had the best intentions, but her life at home was all chaos all the time.

  Sacha buzzed in. “Jessie is on line three.”

  The one person to get through at any time and under any circumstances was Beth’s daughter, Jessie.

  “Maggie, hold on for a minute, I’ve got Jessie on the other line . . .” Beth switched lines. “Hi, sweetheart. What’s up?”

  “I’m here with Hanna doing my homework,” Jessie said in a quiet voice that gave away her concern for what followed. “Paul just called and he sounded funny. It was weird. It was like he couldn’t breathe. He was looking for you. Do you think he’s okay?”

  “I don’t know, honey, but I’ll call him from here,” Beth tried to reassure her. “Don’t worry . . . Listen, things are a little hectic today at the office, so I might be home a little later than usual. It won’t be too late, around seven thirty or eight. If you get hungry, have something with Hanna. You don’t have to wait for me. Okay? I love you.”

  Beth made it a habit to be home no later than 6:30 P.M. so she and Jessie could have dinner and still have time together before Jessie’s bedtime. Most nights, once Jessie was tucked in, Beth worked in her home office between 9:00 and 11:00 P.M. The days were long but doable. Provided that she had time with her daughter, everything felt manageable.

  “But, Mom, Paul’s voice scared me,” Jessie said, near tears.

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry you’re scared. I promise I will call him right away and that everything will be fine,” Beth lied, even though she was certain Jessie knew it was a lie.

  Beth hung up with Jessie and picked up the line where Maggie was on hold, but she was no longer there. They didn’t have to properly finish the conversation for Beth to know Maggie would already be on the case.

  Beth went back to the window. She heard the sirens heading her way when Sacha buzzed in again: “Isabel is on line one.”

  If anyone else besides Jessie got through to Beth, it was Isabel. They’d met in college after a year of circling each other suspiciously and bonded, finally, over the contempt they shared for their sorority sisters. Beth and Isabel had been inseparable ever since. Their lives often veered dangerously close to each other’s.

  One night in particular had solidified their friendship, occurring during graduation week at their midwestern college, on a particularly drunken evening when families of both graduates were visiting the campus to celebrate. Beth’s father was in between wives two and three (there would be five in total), and Isabel’s brother was just finishing medical school. Beth and Isabel were manic with end-of-college festivities. They’d been living on fumes for the past few weeks and their respective families seemed to catch a contact high.

  Isabel’s parents peeled off after dinner to go back to their hotel. Anna was away at a conference and unable to make it. So Beth and Isabel’s brother, Bobby, and Isabel and Beth’s father, Albert, made two odd couples as they headed downtown to a dance club. The night was a blur, though Beth did remember her father telling her at one point in the drunken evening that he wanted to take Isabel back to St. Louis, buy her a cello, and give her cello lessons.

  “But, Dad,” Beth told him, “Isabel wants to live in New York City and she has no interest in playing the cello.”

  Beth also overheard her father, the head of the university’s obstetrics and gynecology department, tell Isabel that he knew every nerve ending in her pelvis. He was a bit eccentric, old Al.

  Bobby fell hard and fast for Beth, a petite but strong-limbed and equally strong-willed redhead with a spray of freckles across her nose and the body of a young boy—narrow hips and waist—but with perfectly formed small breasts that needed no bra to stand firm. She managed to be cute and dangerous at the same time. Bobby wouldn’t be the first or last to fall at the small, elegant feet of Beth Mack.

  The morning after the debauched evening, Isabel crawled into bed with Beth. Bobby had left just an hour before to slink back to his hotel room.

  “So, who cuffed who?” Isabel lifted the handcuffs off the bed frame and let them clang against it.

  Beth, barely awake, muttered, “Does it matter? The real question is whether I should call you Mom or Auntie Isabel. You first. What happened with Big Ole Albert? I stopped paying attention when I saw his tongue in your mouth . . .”

  Isabel considered the implication for a foggy, hungover moment before catching on.

  “Oh, ugh, Beth . . . Gross! That must have been too weird for you to see me kissing your dad. Jesus, Beth. I made out with your dad—what the fuck . . . ?”

  They both fell out of bed laughing. Beth was relieved when Isabel, struggling to shine some light on the recesses of her intoxicated mind, realized that Big Al’s seduction stopped at the kissing stage.

  “How did you stop him?” Beth had to ask.

  “I told him I didn’t want to cheat on my girlfriend. It puzzled him enough to make him stop cold. I think I successfully scared him away.”

  “You clearly don’t know my father.”

  “Yeah, well, I intended him to think it was you I was talking about. That was my stroke of brilliant inebriated logic in the heat of the moment . . . He can’t be that fucked-up, can he?”

  “I don’t even want to think about it!”

  The two friends, still on the floor, lay silently for a few minutes, partly reeling from the moment and partly because they were both still a little drunk. It was going to be a wretched day.

  “So, what about you?” Isabel asked. “Don’t tell me you might be carrying my brother’s child.”

  “I get pregnant if someone smiles at me when I am ovulating. I’m afraid we didn’t use any protection and my ovaries feel like monkeys are hanging off them.” Beth wrinkled her nose and scrunched her eyes shut to push away the thoughts of an unwelcome pregnancy. “How stupid am I? Let’s hope your brother and I are not a fertile pair.”

  Exhausted from the festivities of the night before, they climbed back into the bed and snuggled under Beth’s comforter. They slept through most of the morning in each other’s arms until Isabel snuck out and returned with supersized hot coffees and McMuffins—hangover food of the gods.

  Five weeks later, Beth and Isabel traveled back to downtown Columbus, this time to the Planned Parenthood clinic where Isabel held her hand the whole way through the termination. Beth never told Bobby about it.

  Beth and Isabel continued to help each other out of jams in the years that followed college. They covered for each other when necessary, and for a few years when they first arrived in New York postcollege, it was necessary on many occasions.

  THE SOUND OF the protestors was muted but audible from Beth’s third-floor office. Beth picked up the line where Isabel was on hold, “Hey, Is, how’re you feeling?”

  “I think I have gestational schizophrenia,” Isabel said without saying hello.

  “Get used to it. This is just the beginning.” Beth was
only half paying attention, since her phone continued to ring and Sacha continued to barge into her office, giving her updates about what was happening on the street. She told Isabel that this wasn’t a good time to talk. They stayed on the phone for only a minute or two, as opposed to their usual twenty-minute riffs.

  Part of Beth wanted to get in the mix with the protestors, to meet them face-to-face, talk to them, ask them what the fuck they could be thinking. Would that be dangerous? Would it just make for an ugly media story? Her mind flip-flopped about what to do. Too agitated to sit in her office or answer any of her calls, Beth got up and headed for Anna’s office.

  Anna was standing at the window and seemed to be talking to herself.

  “The fire department should be here any moment. Lucky us . . .” Beth was making some calculated decision based on what she’d just observed.

  “Don’t these people have anything better to do with their day?” Anna whined.

  “Thank them, Anna. They will make our year, I promise!”

  “Aren’t you scared that some nutjob is going to go postal?”

  “No, Anna, I really am not worried about it. And all the press about this is more than we can afford to buy. I love these freaks out there doing our jobs for us.” Beth could turn almost anything to her advantage, and she knew Anna admired her for it, even as she was appalled by it. Beth was okay with that.

  “Listen, Maggie is on her way here for a meeting in a bit. Stick around if you can so we can strategize. I’m going to watch the firemen do their thing . . .” Beth left the offices and headed downstairs to watch the drama unfold.

  As she walked through the store she heard a loud thud and glanced up to see something bouncing off the storefront window. The plate glass cracked down the middle.

  “They hate our underwear and wear wooden shoes . . .” Beth said aloud as if it were the beginning of a common nursery rhyme. It was a game she sometimes played with Jessie. After what she’d been through with Paul, all of this was child’s play.