Small Changes

by Marge Piercy

  “I’m lonesome right now.”

  “Go on. Partying all night. I bet some girl took you home from the reading, didn’t she?”

  “Ever heard of being lonesome in a crowd? Nobody took me home, Laverne. I passed out in a chair, and I feel like a ghost.”

  “Hey!” she shrieked. “Those are my clothes! Where do you think you’re going with my clothes?”

  The woman turned to survey her. “Why don’t you watch your machine then? It’s been off for ten minutes. Sitting there carrying on.”

  “Ten minutes, my foot. I looked away for an instant.” Laverne collected her clothes and began to fold them into the cart.

  “Laverne … how about lunch? Come on, have lunch with me. I’m starving.” He probably had fifty cents on him, but he figured she couldn’t go out with him carrying her laundry.

  “Phil, I’d love to.” She patted at her hair. “But Tommy would scream his head off. He gets awfully cranky. He hasn’t had his lunch yet and he gets his nap after. I’d love to eat lunch with you but I just can’t.”

  He took her arm. “How about making me some lunch then? It’s silly to run into you after so long and lose you to a pile of sheets.”

  She laughed. “There’s not much in the house. Some eggs.”

  “Eggs would be fine, don’t fuss. Anything you eat, I’ll eat too.”

  “Oh, don’t bet on that. I eat yogurt.”

  “So I’ll eat yogurt too.” By this time he was pulling the clanking squeaky cart of laundry and she was pushing the stroller with Tommy in it. He couldn’t imagine how she’d done both on the way there. Must have been quite a sight, Laverne in the middle and the cart behind and stroller in front like a choo-choo train.

  “Oh, I know men don’t eat yogurt.” She gave him an arch look. She seemed nervous but willing enough to let him come along. She was still up on the hill behind Harvard Street on the ground floor of a three-flat house with faded-looking junipers beside the steps. She disappeared immediately to comb her hair and probably to change. When she came back her ash-blond hair was loose and combed out on her shoulders and her face looked more together and she was wearing a soft green sweater and well-fitted gray pants.

  First she fed Tommy slop from a jar, spooning it into him in his high chair. Then she made scrambled eggs for them. He helped himself to a beer from the refrigerator. To judge from the water collected on top, it had been there awhile. She had one with him. She was nervous still but in an appealing way: she punctuated every few sentences with a short soft laugh. The laugh did not say she was amused but was an offering to him to be pleased with her, to let her please him, not to judge what she was saying if it was not pleasing. It was obsequious and playful. He felt better already. She had always been soignée and unapproachable, Ryan’s wife. He touched her shoulder and her arm and once her hip, and although she laughed each time and pretended not to notice, she did not withdraw. He had another beer as she continued to sip her first.

  “How about his nap?” he suggested. Time to get on with it.

  She agreed, but Tommy, who understood at once, started yelling and banging. There followed half an hour of confusion. He lay down on the couch beside the white plastic tree with its lights blinking like a soft advertisement. He was mildly bored but contented, feeling her wanting him to be there. He did not feel specifically sexual response in her, not even when she came back from the kid’s room and after hesitating, sat down on the couch where he beckoned her. Immediately he slid his arms around her, pulled her alongside him to kiss. She had said something about getting the daughter from nursery school at four. He did not feel in her body that she wanted him particularly but he sensed she was acquiescent. She felt obliged.

  When he got his hands under her sweater—she wore a brassiere and it took him awhile to get the stiff thing off—she interrupted and said she had to do something, please, she would be right back. She trotted into her own bedroom. He followed, deciding why not use the bed. She was rummaging in the top drawer, red with embarrassment. “It must be in the bathroom. I’m so sorry! It’ll only take a minute! Please.” She ran into the bathroom and started pushing things around in the medicine chest. Apparently there she found what she was looking for because she shut the door and then in a while came out. In the meantime he took off his clothes and opened up the bed. She came out of the bathroom still dressed and stood there flatfooted till he got up and put his arms around her.

  She was a green stiff-feeling woman, but he was gentle and patient. Maybe he was enjoying the idea of it better than the thing itself but she was pretty and Ryan’s wife and it was a pleasant thing to do on a snowy afternoon. He had just got on her when the kid in the next bedroom started hollering. Then if she didn’t give a quick buck and, mumbling apologies, cram herself into pants and sweater and run off. The cries continued, diminished, and finally turned off. By the time she came back, stripped and hopped in again, still saying her soft apologies, he was limp as a worm.

  When she discovered that she seemed upset, though he couldn’t see why as she hadn’t taken more than a polite interest in the proceedings. But a few minutes later she was curled up in his arms crying and telling her troubles. “Before I married Tom, lots of men wanted to marry me and anyway lots wanted to go out with me. I still don’t know why I married Tom, he’s shorter than me, honest to God. He’s a mean person; I used to think sometimes, that he just must hate me.… My family liked him, he even bought me a solitaire diamond. But now, with two kids, it seems like nobody cares for me any more. I got married so young, I hardly had a chance to enjoy it all, being young and pretty. I think I’m still … pretty?” Waiting for his reassurances. “But now I don’t meet any men. How can I? I have to keep house and take care of the kids. I joined the neighborhood association but all those men are married. I even tried bowling! Honestly, all I meet are married men, and who wants somebody else’s husband? Tom still wants me back. He’s living with some girl, I don’t know what kind of slut she is to live with somebody else’s husband! But he still wants me back. I don’t know! He’s smart, after all, and they’re his kids. And I don’t really believe in divorce.…”At that point the kid started crying again. Up she hopped and dressed and ran off. Phil lay a moment making faces at the ceiling and then he got dressed.

  “Are you going?” Her face pinched with disappointment.

  “No, no. Just thought we could have a cup of coffee, something like that.” Actually he had meant to go, but in the face of her desolation, he couldn’t. She thought she had some real coffee but after looking in all the cupboards decided maybe she’d used it up when she tried to give a party. Finally she made cocoa.

  “I haven’t had cocoa in years. Jesus, makes me feel like a kid. Winters are different for kids. When was the last time you touched snow?”

  Tommy was up by now, so they bundled him into his outdoor clothes till he was round as an onion. Then they pitched out the back door. There was about two inches of snow by now, not much but it packed well. Phil tried to show Tommy how to make a snowball but he was too young and just squeezed it in his hand and laughed. Then they went back in and she made more cocoa for him and Tommy to have with animal crackers.

  She seemed like a pretty good mother. Maybe because she’d always been so soignée she didn’t seem to mind when Tommy splashed the milk and spat up the cocoa. Or maybe she was in a good mood because he had stayed. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes seemed bluer and brighter, even if she did leave the room every time she had to blow her nose.

  They sat on the couch with Tommy banging blocks together and screaming and carried on a conversation when they could hear each other. She cuddled up to him and showed him a sweater she was knitting. It was a handsome fisherman’s knit.

  “Oh, I’ve made three little outfits for Tommy and a scarf and mittens and a cute little hat for Bonnie and a blue sweater for her, she’s blond like me. I made myself a scarf and a cardigan and a blue beret and a sweater from the same yarn as Bonnie’s, and a heather tweed sweate
r. If you really like this sweater, I could make one for you.”

  “Sure I like it. But isn’t that a lot of work?” Jesus, he suspected she really might do it.

  “It makes me feel better. Knitting is something I know how to do. Then at the end of the day I can see at least I got some knitting done and at the end of a couple of weeks I have something to show for it.”

  He could imagine her in the four-room apartment halfway up the hill knitting away. Alone with her kids, knitting and knitting, covering the whole house in heather tweed. Knitting a big shroud for them. It was creepy. Still he kind of liked her. “Hey, you want to make some more cocoa? Without the marshmallows this time.”

  After they picked up Bonnie from nursery school, he hitchhiked home. Jackson was making meat loaf with bacon laid on top and basil and onion inside, baked potatoes, good smells in the kitchen. “Jackson, old buffalo, where did you learn to cook like that, growing up in Sofa, Idaho?”

  “I learned to cook from books, as anyone can who is willing—unlike yourself—to follow simple directions. A recipe is the codified knowledge of the experienced.”

  “Aw, ever ready to read wisdom in a grain of processed rice.” He gave Jackson a poke in the arm.

  “I learned to cook after Sissy cleaned me out. I didn’t have enough of the ready to eat out and I got tired of frozen shit. I thought I was getting ulcers, but after I started cooking for myself the pains disappeared.”

  “If I talk enough, I don’t notice what I’m eating—that’s how I can stand the chow at Going-to-the-Sun. Here’s Miriam.”

  Going to meet her, he followed her into her room. She was wet and cranky. “Ugh, what a day. That Fred Weathering is going to drive me out of my mind. I disagreed with him in project meeting and he told Jaime I’m a castrating bitch! Last time he had one of his dim ideas, I waited and told him afterward what I thought was wrong. He said, ‘Well, if you thought that, why didn’t you speak up when we were making the decisions?’ Hey! What the hell did you mean routing me out of bed last night? I was yawning all day long. Was that supposed to be fun?”

  Aw, she was in a foul mood. He felt a little uneasy, thinking she could read his easy afternoon lying around drinking cocoa. Got to get her into a better mood. “Hey, old lady, you know what score I finally evened up?”

  She plumped down on the side of the bed, yanking off her wet boots and toweling some water from her mane. “What are you keeping score on now?”

  “For you, baby. Old Ryan. Or have you forgiven all and turned the other buttock?”

  “That miserable twit. I am not in a forgiving strain. Did you see him today?”

  “Only by proxy. I ran into Laverne. He’s trying to get her back, he’s promising anything—”

  “But he’s living with one of the secretaries—Beth told me.”

  “Well, she might be living alone soon. He’s working on Laverne. Anyhow, I picked her up, went back to their cozy domestic flat, and laid her.”

  She looked at him blankly. “That’s supposed to be doing me a favor?”

  “You’re not jealous, baby. Tit for tat. Old Ryan’ll chew his insides out when he hears it.”

  “Laverne never did anything to me. Ryan is my enemy, not her. She’s probably lonely. How could you think using her sexually would make me feel good?”

  “She’s Ryan’s wife. I figured that evened the score.”

  “She isn’t Ryan. She’s a person too. Oh, you make me sick!” Pushing past him, she stormed out. He followed, peeved and somehow thrust into the wrong. Still drying her hair, she dropped on a kitchen chair.

  “You’re late tonight.” Jackson leaned one arm on the back of her chair. “Supper in five minutes.”

  “How can you be jealous of Laverne? It was just an afternoon’s game.”

  “Jealous! I’m sorry for the woman. I’m sorry for all the women you pick up and use. How am I supposed to get along with other women, how am I supposed to have friends when I never know which of them you’re going to cozy up to, fuck, and discard!”

  “We’ve been together five years, and you still think I’m going to discard you?”

  “No, I’m different. How am I supposed to explain to women who are my friends that I’m different but they’re fair game? Take a bite of the apple and throw it away.” She was really excited, waving her hands around and shouting.

  Jackson made a cool face of disgust. “Nothing like a scene with supper to dull the appetite. What’s all this emoting about? O Philip, what new sin have you committed against womankind?”

  “Nothing. Just nothing!” He leaned on the refrigerator, folding his arms. “She came home in a foul mood from work and she’s taking it out on us.”

  Jackson leaned on the back of her chair. “How would you feel if we took out our daily sufferings on you?”

  “You do, and that’s not what’s up.” She shook her head angrily. “Phil uses women and that’s all there is to it! He told me about Laverne and expects me to say, ‘Whoopie.’ ”

  “Laverne Ryan?” Jackson went back to the stove, looking over his shoulder. “What about her?”

  “What about her yourself. I met her on the street and spent the afternoon with her. She seemed glad for the company.”

  “She still separated from Ryan?” Jackson tasted the beans judiciously, added salt. “Not a bad-looking woman. Not bad at all. So where’s the crime? You raped her on the kitchen floor?”

  “I did not. I was more ravished than ravishing.”

  “I’m sure we all find you ravishing.” Jackson came back to the table. “Have we a jealous female glowering on our hearth?”

  “You’re both crazy. That’s not how Phil told it to me! He said he was getting revenge on Ryan by laying her.”

  “I was making a joke.” Phil gave a long-suffering pout. “I can’t even joke around here any more.”

  “Laverne is an attractive female. Do you feel you did harm to her person or psyche this afternoon of December 23?”

  “I did not.” Phil tucked his hand in his leather vest. “I might say that the lady in question appeared pleased with my company and other services. She fed me lunch and gave me cocoa and animal crackers.”

  “I would not say, then, that the scene could be interpreted as violent. Animal crackers?”

  “Animal crackers and cocoa, your honor, once with marshmallows and once without.”

  “I find the defendant innocent of all charges brought against him. I assess court costs on the plaintiff for causing a fuss about nothing. Unless you wish to request that the defendant encounter less attractive females in his daily walks.”

  “I’m not jealous! You both twist everything! I’m sick of it!” She started out of the room. “I don’t know if I believe you now and you were lying before, or the other way around.”

  Phil pulled himself off the refrigerator. “Jesus, I’m the one should be sore. Lying your ass. You’ve lost your sense of humor. You take yourself too damn seriously lately.”

  “And who appointed you my judge?” She rounded on Jackson. “I’m sick of being judged by the two of you. I’m sick of this life. It’s ugly!”

  “So if you can’t take it, get out of the way,” Jackson said coldly. He was angry by now, his anger transmuted into an icy rage coming down like a drill bit. “Enough scenes. Stay or go. Accept or get out. I don’t like random scenes with my supper. I don’t like women who carry on when nobody’s hurting them.”

  “Accept or get out—that’s just like you. Eat shit or starve. No chance of a human compromise. No chance of you coming halfway and giving in return. Do you think I’m crazy to go on giving and giving myself down a rathole?”

  Jackson and his ultimatums: he was going to push her into a corner. All a bunch of noise. “Aw, shut up, the both of you. What’s wrong tonight? Is supper ready or not?”

  “There’s the damn phone. Just a minute.” Miriam ran to answer it.

  “What’s the big idea giving ultimatums?” Phil said softly to Jackson. “Enough w
ith the melodrama.”

  “She’s not going to push me around. This is my house and if she doesn’t like it, she can pack and clear out.”

  “Yeah, and leave us fucking our hands? Come off it, you got her really mad now.”

  “No. I’m the one who’s mad. No sexual blackmail. I want her to stop throwing her weight around. I’m not going to be abused by a chick every time she feels like complaining. You attach too much importance to her threats. You encourage her. You take all that gassing for real.”

  “Then what are you getting so mad about yourself?”

  “Supper’s ready. Let’s eat.” Jackson put the food down and Phil joined him. “You’re the one she was digging into, anyhow.”

  “I didn’t do a thing.”

  “Misunderstood again.” Jackson looked at him with raised brows. “I wouldn’t mind some time in the hay with Laverne.”

  “Man, she’s available. She’s the original bored and lonely housewife.”

  “Didn’t she used to have some job downtown?”

  “She’s got two kids.”

  “Then what did you do, lock them in the closet?”

  “The daughter was at nursery school and the son was napping. No sweat. She was eager for it.”

  “Hmmm. Where did you run into her, exactly?”

  Phil laughed. “You wouldn’t mind taking a walk there, right?”

  Miriam came to the door, pushing her hair back with one hand. She looked even crankier. “Why didn’t you tell me Beth was trying to get me all day?”

  “I forgot. Like you have observed, I had a busy day.”

  “But why didn’t you tell her how to reach me at Logical?”

  “I forgot. Like I said. Now get off my back. I got more things on my mind than little girls with big mouths.” There she was carrying on about Beth and she didn’t even know he was fired too and in trouble.

  “She went back with the detective, with her husband. I know they couldn’t make her do that legally! She was conned into it.”

  “Sit down and eat,” Jackson said with leaden calm. “Try chewing your food instead of us.”