by Lisa Alther
“I might just do that”
“Hurry back now,” he said with a grin.
“Oh, I will.”
She drove home, smiling and singing the Honey Sweet song, “All I want is just to be your girl …” She glanced over at the Castle Tree as she drove past. It was covered with tender pale green baby leaves. When she used to climb that tree, she’d planned to be a singer in New York when she grew up. She remembered the fervor with which she wailed into her jump rope handle. That had been her talent for the Miss Newland pageant. If only she hadn’t dropped the microphone, she might have won. Her answers during the question session had been pretty good:
“If you were Miss America, Sally, traveling around to other countries as our Ambassadress of Beauty, what would you tell them about our great nation?”
“Well, Stan, I’d tell them first of all about the ideals that have made our country what it is today—our belief that all men are created equal and endowed by the Lord with rights that nobody can ever take away from them. Let’s see … I’d tell about the beauty of our terrain—the towering mountains the rushing streams, the vast plains. I’d tell about the people from every end of the globe who have come here and found for the first time in their lives Justice and Brotherhood …”
If she’d been crowned Miss Newland, she’d have gone to the Miss Tennessee pageant. From there to Atlantic City for the Miss America pageant. She might have begun a career as a popular singer, like Anita Bryant. She’d have spent the following years traveling around doing personal appearances. She’d have had to leave Jed behind. He’d have found another girl. She wouldn’t have gotten pregnant.
She pulled into the driveway and studied their little house. She turned and looked at Joey and Laura in their car seats. But for one ill-timed stumble, none of this would have existed.
For a moment, she willed it all to oblivion. She shook herself, got out, and began unloading groceries. She fed the kids, and took them into their room and put Laura into her crib, pulling up the side bar. She wound up her musical angel mobile. She made Joey lie on his bed and look at his mobile of sailboats. She knew once she left, he’d climb down and play with his tank and poke Laura through her bars, but she just ignored the commotion unless Laura began screaming. She couldn’t wait for Jed to finish the new room, so she could separate them once and for all.
She put a load in the washer and turned on the TV to “Love for Life.” She arranged her entire day so she wouldn’t have to miss it. Sometimes Brad and Elvira seemed more real than Jed. Brad was taking his secretary to a motel today. Sally removed her Ever So Ice nail polish and put on some Eat Me Orange. She felt bad for Elvira, at home sneaking gin from a bottle and replacing it with water.
Sally blew on her nails. If they didn’t dry before Laura began shrieking to have her diapers changed, she’d ruin them. Would Jed be likely to do that—take a girl to a motel? How would she ever know if he did? Could she ask him? And if she did, would he tell her the truth? If he wasn’t seeing another girl already, probably he would eventually. That was how men were. But did her daddy have other women? Surely not. Who? It was too small a town. If that’s how men were, how were women? Was she supposed to sneak gin alone in the afternoon?
Immobilized by her nails, she ran through her outfit for supper—mauve silk shirt and matching wool skirt, a paisley scarf around her neck. Yes, Jed liked that outfit. Oh dear, no, not mauve. Not with orange nail polish. Darn. She just hadn’t been thinking.
And for supper—steak, baked potato, corn bread, molded Jello-O salad. Which place mats, now? What if he did have another girl? Was that why he hadn’t wanted to make love much lately? The gold woven ones. With candles to match.
She waved her nails in the air. Those windows next to the TV were streaky. She’d have to remember to tell Rochelle to wash them tomorrow. A pie! She’d bake a cherry pie this afternoon. Jed’s favorite. If only her nails would get hard.
She reached for the phone and dialed carefully with the ball of her finger.
“Hi, Mama … nothing much. Just thought I’d say hi. What are you doing? … Yeah, I’m sitting her waiting for my nails to dry. Waiting for the kids to wake up … Yeah, a little bit lonely. None of my friends are around anymore. Besides, when would I have time to see them? … Yeah, I’m going to Happy Homemakers tomorrow with Jed’s mother. They’re having them a Hawaiian luau. Mercedes Marshall is showing her slides. You ought to come … Poor Little Joey, he was bound and determined I was gonna buy him some spray starch at Kroger’s this morning. Said he wanted to iron. Can you imagine? … Let him? Are you kidding? Jed would croak! … Yeah, I know he’s just a baby. But like Jed says Coach Clancy always used to say, ‘The way you bend the twig is how the branch grows!’… Yeah, well, see you soon, Mama.”
As she hung up, she was surprised to find tears running down her cheeks. She’d thought she was doing what her mother wanted. After all, it was what her mother herself had done. Sally had started it all too young, yes, but that was in the past. She’d been making a success of it. What did she have to do to make her mother proud? Cheerleader, Ingenue, Devout, Homecoming Attendant, runner-up to Miss Newland—none of these had seemed to impress her. Some days she’d walk the kids over to her mother’s house and prop them up in front of her: Here, isn’t this what you want from me? Emily had left Newland, came home dressed in jeans, and was losing her accent. But Emily was the one they talked about at Sunday lunches—what courses she was taking, what concerts she’d been to, what witty remarks she’d made in letters. Ha, ha. Sally wondered if there wasn’t some way to let them know that Emily had been having sex with that repulsive Justin under their very roof, and had laughed about it later. How could she manage to let this bit of information slip out?
She picked up “How To Keep That Man Coming Back for More”: “… every man finds mystery alluring in a woman. Don’t let him in on all the tricks of your trade. Shut him out of the bathroom when you’re putting on your face …” She put a check in the margin. “… don’t run around the house in rollers when he’s there . . .” She checked this off. “… re-dye your hair before the roots grow out …” Check. “… let him suspect he doesn’t know everything there is to know about you. Go out from time to time without telling him exactly where you’re going …” She thought this over. She could hide a photo of some man—an uncle he hadn’t met—in a drawer where Jed would be sure to come across it … “Who is this?” he’d demand.
“Oh … someone.”
Laura started shaking the bars of her crib. Joey toddled out, rubbing his eyes. “Laurie wake Joey up.”
“Naughty Laura,” she intoned. Laura was jumping on her mattress, holding the bars. Sally felt a wave of irritation that alarmed her. Mothers weren’t supposed to dislike their children, but she often did Laura. Joey’s energy and determination enchanted her, unless she was in a hurry, like today at Kroger’s. Laura’s annoyed her. Little girls were supposed to be calm and polite, affectionate and cooperative.
She swept Laura up and smothered her with guilty kisses, strapped her on the changing table, and tickled and nuzzled her. Laura giggled, cooed, and kicked her pudgy legs. Sally plopped Laura in her playpen, then took her rollers out, and combed her hair. Then she put on her face and changed her clothes.
As she dumped a can of cherry filling into a frozen pie shell, she thought about what a lucky girl she was. To make a pie and watch her family enjoy it. To watch them grow healthy and put on flesh from what you fed them. This was an honor. Emily had read a lot of books and knew some fancy words, but had she ever actually done anything real? Emily thought she was pretty smart, but had she been smart enough to keep Earl?
Sally turned on the radio loud enough to compete with the Tom and Jerry cartoons Joey had switched on in the living room. Honey Sweet was wailing, “You make me want to be a mother …”
Should she have her another baby? Both times she was pregnant Jed hadn’t been that interested in sex, which had been nice. He’d turned into a rea
l gentleman and brought home surprises. Sometimes he’d rub her feet.
At supper Sally said, “How’s the strike, honey?”
“Same.”
“Any trouble?”
“Eggs on the Chevy when Dad and me crossed the line this morning. Lazy bastards. Standing around waving signs. Do you know, they was having them a pork barbecue down there this evening when I left? Seems they think it’s a party. And that insane brother of mine running around playing hero. He called Dad and me ‘traitors to the working class’ today.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Damned if I know. Dad fixed him good, though. Hollered out the window, ‘Where was you when I was on Guam, you damned Commie?’” He laughed, so Sally did, too, although she didn’t get it. “All I know is we got orders to fill. I figure if you accept a job, you have a responsibility to do what they pay you to do. Otherwise you should clear out. Am I right?”
“I’m sure you are, honey. What do you think about place mats to match the curtains in here?” “Huh? Oh, sure, fine.”
“Yeah, but would you tell me if you didn’t like the idea?”
“Yeah, sure I would. That’d be real nice, honey.”
“Maybe cloth napkins, too.”
“Uh huh.”
“You don’t really care, do you?”
“Not really, darlin.”
She sat in silence, her chin quivering. “As far as you’re concerned, we could be living in a mobile home, with rented furniture and flour sacks for curtains.”
“Now honey, you know that ain’t so. I love our home. What you think gets me through work ever day. Come on now. This ain’t like you, darlin. Be Daddy’s big girl.”
She reminded herself she was supposed to be the harbor, not the sea. “I’m sorry, darling. It’s getting to be my time of the month.”
He nodded. “I got to hurry. Got to go out guarding.”
“But I thought maybe we could have us a quiet evening tonight. Go to bed early. Watch some TV. See if we can’t find us some mischief to get up to.” She smiled coyly.
“I’d like to, darlin. But the strikers threw ball bearings through your daddy’s windows last night after I left. Didn’t you hear?” She studied his face. Was he telling the truth, or was he going out to meet someone at the Lazy Daze Motel? She could hire a sitter, tour all the motels in the area looking for his Chevy …
“No. I talked to Mama, and she didn’t even mention it. Why would they do a thing like that?”
“Bunch of Reds. Want to wreck the whole country and take over.”
“Poor Daddy. Do you reckon he’s upset?”
“Wouldn’t you be? After all he’s done for this town? I sure am, and it ain’t even my windows. Somebody oughta string them up.”
“Cherry pie for desert!”
“Don’t have time, darlin. I’ll have some when I get in.” “But it’ll be all cold, honey.” “I like it better cold.”
“I thought you liked your cherry pie warm.”
“No, honey. I’ve always liked it better cold.”
She looked at him, her painted face gone haggard. “Jed, don’t ever leave me, honey. Your love is all I got.”
He coughed, embarrassed. “Now that ain’t true, Sally. You got you a washer-dryer ensemble, a Dodge wagon, a TV console, two healthy children … Am I right?” He smiled winningly.
He reached in his pocket for the beer tab rings and began putting them on. Then he took his rifle from the rack on the living room wall and filled a pocket with bullets, his mouth set.
After giving the kids their bath, reading them a story and getting them to bed, cleaning up from supper and folding the clothes from the dryer, Sally went into the bedroom. As she picked up Jed’s dirty clothes, she wondered if she could ask him to put them in the bathroom hamper himself. Or should a wife be in charge of her husband’s dirty clothes?
She lay in a steaming bath, inspecting her body. Nice legs, but not long enough. Jed thought her ankles were too thick. He liked her breasts, though. A lot. So did she, but she liked them better before the nipples got huge from nursing, and before they got streaked with silver stretch marks. Her waist seemed a little too thick these days. She’d better start the exercise for it in the Modern Wife article.
She sat up and shaved her legs, her armpits, the edges of her pubic area, then plucked a few dark hairs from around her nipples and below her navel.
After she dried and oiled herself, she plucked her eyebrows, then examined the roots of her hair. She used cleansing cream on her face, reapplied her makeup, and rolled her hair. She sprayed herself with cologne and deodorant. She douched.
She took her eyebrow pencil and put it against her ribs, underneath her right breast. When she removed her hand, the pencil stayed in place, instead of falling to the floor as it always had. She felt the pencil with horror. She had failed the Glamour magazine two-piece bathing suit test. Her breasts were starting to sag … Those darn children anyhow. Were there exercises to make breasts perky again? She’d have to check the article.
She slipped on a coral silk kimono and climbed into bed with a newspaper and the article and some magazines. She read the article and pressed the heels of her hands together for half an hour.
The front page of the newspaper was all about the ball bearings through her parents’ windows. Apparently Jed wasn’t lying. At least not this time …
She sighed and flipped open Modern Wife to a questionnaire to determine the durability of your marriage:
When he leaves the cap off the toothpaste, do you (a) put it back on; (b) ask him nicely to put it on; (c) get angry and make a scene; (d) leave it off and let the toothpaste dry up, so that he can experience the result of his thoughtlessness?
Sally peeped before marking, discovered (a) was the desired answer, and marked it. Probably she shouldn’t ask Jed to put his dirty clothes in the hamper. That was a wife’s job.
Sally circled her remaining answers without cheating, totaled her score, then realized Jed would have to answer his part before they could say for sure how long their marriage would last. How could she get him to? She discovered the author had anticipated this problem:
If your husband refuses to participate in this questionnaire, will you (a) get angry; (b) cry; (c) try to guess his answers; (d) abandon the questionnaire?
She chewed the eraser. Suddenly she looked at the clock. She dashed to the bathroom like Cinderella at midnight, brushed her teeth, and rinsed with mouthwash. She took out her rollers and teased her hair. Climbing back in bed, she arranged her kimono, straightened the covers, and turned on the radio. Honey Sweet was singing, “… a woman is just made to be hurt. / Cheated on, lied to, treated like dirt…”
Eleven-thirty, and Jed still wasn’t home. He took his rifle. What if he was lying dying somewhere, calling for her? What if he was lying in some other woman’s arms? She couldn’t decide which was worse.
She glanced at the Norman Rockwell picture over her dresser of the smiling mother hovering over two sleeping children and went in to check on Joey and Laura. They always slept with such ferocity, tossing, sighing, slurping on fingers. Funny little creatures that emerged from her body. She felt tenderness for them, the kind available to her only when they were asleep.
She went into the kitchen, illuminated by the light inside the wall oven. She stood in the middle of the linoleum in silence, listening, hoping to hear the roar of the Chevy at the far end of the street. She heard only the hum of appliances. The glass doors on her oven and washer and dryer seemed for a moment like eyeballs watching her, making fun of her. Her job was to put things in them, punch buttons and turn dials. What was it crazy Raymond had said to her that night? “Can’t you see, Sally? They’ve turned you into an appendage of your machine, an appendage made of flesh.” She wasn’t sure what appendage meant. But Raymond was right for once: There sure was something creepy about these machines …
She dashed into her bedroom, climbed into bed, and pulled up the covers.
; When Jed stomped in a half hour later, he looked radiant.
“Everything OK?” she asked. Why did he look so happy?
“Yeah. We sat up on the roof of that garage next door to yall. A bunch of cars went by, but no one stopped.” He let his shirt fall to the floor.
“Honey, would you mind putting your dirty clothes in the bathroom hamper?”
He looked at her.
“It’d be a big help.”
He picked up the shirt between two fingers, gazing at her. He marched into the bathroom and dropped it in the hamper, still gazing at her.
“Thank you so much, darling. I feel just terrible asking you.”
“Mama always did it at home. Said it was the least she could do when her men worked so hard all day long.”
“Never mind. Don’t do it anymore,” she pleaded.
“No, I’ll manage.”
“Please don’t, Jed. I like doing it.”
“You want my clothes in the hamper, Sally, you’ll get my clothes in the hamper.”
“But I don’t, Jed. I want them on the floor. I don’t know what got into me, sweetie.”
He climbed in bed and turned his back. She ran her hands under his pajama top and scratched his back with her Eat Me Orange nails. He lay as still as death.
“Jed, honey, what’s wrong?”
“What you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”
“You haven’t held me in weeks, honey. And here I am knocking myself out not to be like a corpse.”
He said nothing.
“What am I doing wrong, honey? If I knew what you wanted, I’d do it.”
“I’m tired, Sally. I just want to sleep, is all.”
Tears began eroding her Revlon pancake makeup. She sniffed loudly.
“Goddam, Sally! For Christ’s sake!”
She sniffed again.
“Shit, Sally. All right, look: When I said that about screwing a corpse, I didn’t mean for you to go turn yourself into a whore.”
“A whore? Here I’ve been trying to be exciting, and now you call me a whore!”