Small Changes

by Marge Piercy

  “None else. He’s invited. He has a soft spot for Laverne. I guess more for the way she used to look … like the soft spot on a rotting pear. Don’t give me the big stare, pigeon.” He took her chin in his hand.

  She ducked away. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Before I’d accepted!”

  Beth said, “It would bother you so much to see him?”

  Miriam did not answer.

  “Son of a bitch!” Flapping his thin arms, Phil strode up and down the kitchen. “I should never have let him near you!”

  Miriam laughed. “Oh, my dear, letting and not letting was never your long suit. I’m not complaining in retrospect. I’m sure I’ll have to see him sometime. But they know, don’t they! I bet Tom is behind this. He loves to be nasty. God, he hates other people to have feelings, it brings out his sadism to feel somebody else is happy … or unhappy. He hates me. He hates you too.”

  “So long as ass-lickers like Tom Ryan hate me, I know I must be doing something right.”

  “Why can’t you just tell Neil you don’t want to go?” Beth said. “He never seems to like parties. I’ve heard him say he only used to go in hopes he would meet a pretty woman, and now he has no reason to go at all.”

  “But I argued with him! I liked the idea of getting dressed up and dancing. Lord, Phil, I haven’t danced in a year or longer! I used to imagine my legs would drop off if I went a week without dancing.”

  Beth insisted, “Just tell him you’ve changed your mind.”

  “On what excuse? He hates irrational changes.”

  “But Neil knows about Phil and Jackson—doesn’t he?”

  “Oh, vaguely. Ancient complexities, what do they matter?”

  “She means the straight man abides few adventures more interesting than he’s had,” Phil drawled. “I’m in the house under false pretenses.” He tousled Miriam’s hair as he passed.

  She shook away from him. He touched her often, compulsively. Unable to reject him, Miriam chose to treat it as a form of teasing or pretended not to notice. “Don’t be melodramatic, prick. He knows you’re an old friend and we used to be sort of involved.”

  “Sort of? Anyhow, I can fix things so neither Jackson or I actually gets there. Better yet, since he wants to go, why not fail to get a baby sitter? Or develop a toothache after supper?”

  “The baby sitter! Phil, you’re still a genius, even if you pretend not to think so any more. It makes me angry to think of that lizard Ryan setting a booby trap. And Laverne, she’s supposed to be my friend, even if she’s jealous. She knows I wouldn’t want to see Jackson, we’ve talked about him. I’d love to spike their guns!” She shut her eyes a moment. Then, bending forward with a grin, “Philip, we are attacking. Go dial your number. Go on. Beth, give me your hand and some moral support.”

  Watching her carefully, his eyes never leaving her face, Phil said, “Jackson, hi there, man. Listen, an old friend wants a word with you.”

  Miriam took the phone, swallowed, and said briskly and very fast, “Hello, Jackson? This is Miriam Stone. Listen, you’re going to Ryan’s party? … I thought so. Phil said as much.… Could you do me a favor? About nine, say, tell Ryan I told you we can’t make it. We tried and tried but couldn’t get a baby sitter. I’ve been calling Ryan and he isn’t home, or I’d tell him myself.…”

  After a medium pause she snorted, nodding into space, and her voice became natural. “I rather suspected he had visions of a confrontation. Be sure everybody hears! Say it loud! Well, good-by.… Sure, good-bye.” Quickly she hung up, looking over her shoulder as if afraid of being caught in the act, looking at the window. “I’m wonderful if I say so myself. Quick thinking, quick action, and I hope Tom dies of disappointment. Jackson jumped out of his skin when he heard my voice.”

  “You spend two months refusing to phone me there for fear he’ll answer, and then you let Tom panic you into calling him.”

  “It wasn’t so bad. It’s out of the way now. It wasn’t so traumatic, when you come down to it.” Miriam sashayed into the living room and flung herself on the couch, drawing up her long legs. “I still wish I could have gone and danced. The only time I wear a dress any more is to go to the pediatrician’s. You know what? I’m going to give a party. A New Year’s party. I’ll bring it up with Neil tonight.”

  Phil sat down beside her. “You’re feeling uppity after talking to Jack the man.”

  “I’ve been an idiot to make such a fuss. Why should I care? I’m married, I have a life of my own and a family, my child. How can he hurt me? He’s the same old Jackson going along in his rut. Does he even have a girl?”

  Phil propped his head against her. “Him? Not on your life. He leers at Dorine occasionally, that’s about the size of it.”

  “Hey, is Dorine avoiding me because you’re involved? Come on, Phil.” She gave him a gentle push. “Don’t lean all over me, I get enough of that when Ariane’s up.”

  “Don’t be a cold mean bitch. It’s little enough I get from you.”

  “Is she avoiding me? It’s silly. Just because she’s involved with somebody I used to see—I mean, one can hardly avoid that in these parts. I hate to think she may feel things are sticky.”

  Beth said, “I think she was worried you might mind.”

  “Nonsense.” Phil put his head on Miriam’s lap. “Dorine knows I am faithful to you in my fashion. Besides, if you haven’t seen her, it’s because you don’t make appointments six weeks in advance. I get ten minutes in a phone booth with her now and then. At least I’m allowed in her bedroom these days. It’s a very unselective house, they even have m-e-n. She’s killing herself according to some ideal of how a liberated woman should act. Eighteen hours a day in the lab, four to pose for money, and that leaves a whole two hours for eating, sleeping, fucking, and taking a crap. She calls that living and thrives on it.”

  “Dorine and I have practically changed places.…” Miriam spoke slowly. Her hand touched Phil and drew back. “It’s strange, Beth. As if our lives had no inner shape.… But of course that’s nonsense. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t want to do the kind of work I was doing at Logical. People are the most important thing to me. My marriage gives me emotional security.… I think I’m better for you now, Phil, than I ever was when we were involved, because—”

  “Now we aren’t involved?”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t you think I can be more helpful?”

  “I’m trying to stop my slow-motion suicide. I think you’re trying to help me, as much as you can with both hands tied behind your back.”

  “Phil! That’s silly. Beth, I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “But you can’t be as close to any of us as you were,” Beth said reluctantly. “You’re not out there with us. You can’t see us except at fixed times. Your life is structured around this house.”

  “Things are changing! With Ariane no longer an infant, I can take her along. I know I wallowed in domesticity. But I’m not withdrawing now. I think I can be a better friend because I’m not so needy and greedy myself. I’m not on the make for me. I really am bored to tears with the couples game.”

  “Dr. and Mrs. Stone present … another perfect sumptuous dinner, brought to you in living color and stereo yawns!”

  “I just realized I don’t like any of those people. I’m sure Neil doesn’t. It’s just that he can’t make himself dislike anyone. He truly does admire those academic cutthroats. If I say Graben is a backbiter and cheats on his wife, Neil says, ‘But oh, he’s sure to win the Nobel prize in five years.…’ He hates to criticize anybody, he thinks it’s terrible to analyze people and talk about them. He calls it picking. I’m sure if he could hear us half the time he’d be shocked, we’d sound like vipers.… You know, he just doesn’t notice. Like we’re over visiting Ted and Barbara and it’s clear there’s a war on, he’s blatantly putting her down all evening till I hardly know where to look. But Neil just doesn’t see. When I say something afterward, he’s so surprised. He has a filter in him that bl
ocks out what he thinks are the wrong things to see. It’s that gentleness in him. Even when he’s bored, he’s good-natured about it. I get nasty when I’m bored. I want to kill somebody.”

  Phil tilted his head back to look up at her. He still had it halfway on her lap. “And why do you think it took two years for you to figure out how much those people bore you? Is that called hypnosis? Or is it called fear? Or being out of touch?”

  “But I didn’t mind! Being married to Neil really is nice, Phil. He loves me, he wants to take care of me—”

  “Do you need a lot of taking care of these days?” Phil asked.

  “Neil enjoys inviting people home for dinner and knowing they’ll be impressed.… I mean, I could do it, so why not, I felt for a long time. It seemed like an easy way to make people feel good.… It wasn’t till recently I realized I don’t care if those people like me or not. They don’t know me, they don’t care about me. I’m just Mrs. Stone, and Mrs. Stone is like Mrs. Jones, except she sets a better table.”

  “What’s happening at Logical?” Beth asked. “Funny how unreal that place is now that I’ve escaped. Are they going bankrupt?”

  Miriam shrugged widely. “Something’s going on. Neil’s going on the M.I.T. faculty next year, though nobody out on 128 knows that yet. Abe forced Dick out. Can you understand fighting over control of a sinking company? Neil’s doing what he always wanted—getting out of industry into a university. He’ll do consulting, of course. But Logical’s still in debt and in trouble and everything’s hanging fire. Those guys he’s seeing tonight are connected somehow. Maybe Abe and Neil are getting a contract from them at the last minute. They’re from some West Coast-based schlocky company. The sooner Neil’s out, the better.”

  They had a noisy picnic supper in the living room and Miriam put on rock records. Phil kept trying to turn up the volume, while Miriam kept telling him they had to keep it down for Ariane. Miriam danced awkwardly at first. Beth found it sad to see her moving with clumsiness. But by the time she had danced to one side, she was in touch with the music. Watching Phil and Miriam turning, playing to each other, closing a pattern and opening it up, Beth thought that Phil and she were like piggy banks for Miriam, repositories for parts of her self not quite forgotten but unused today. Marriage was peculiar: that one day a woman became somebody else, lost her name and habits. Did Neil refuse, or did Miriam censor those parts of herself she thought inappropriate? How would Neil react if that repression began to fail?

  A year ago, six months, even two months before, Beth would have watched from a chair. But she was learning to move. She was still too shy to dance close to them. She went apart, turning away to face the window. Outside the street was white under the street lights. Apparently the snow had stopped falling. But Miriam would not let her stay in the alcove by the windows. Miriam came dancing over, seized her hand, and made them form a circle. They danced around and around faster and faster, until Beth got dizzy and sat down hard.

  Then the door opened and Neil came in, briefcase in hand, shaking off snow and stamping his boots in the hall. “Hello? … What’s going on?”

  That instantly guilty look. Miriam seemed to turn girlish. “Neil? Hi there, we were just … dancing. Beth and Phil are visiting.… How come you’re back so early? Didn’t the men from Palo Alto come?”

  “They’d eaten on the plane and they weren’t ready for supper yet.” He glanced from one to the other coldly, with a minimal nod. “You’ve eaten already?”

  The plates were still sitting on the coffee table. “We had a little snack. I wasn’t going to make supper, since you were going to eat with them.… Is something wrong?”

  “They’re downtown drinking now and all I’ve had since noon is a couple of rancid anchovies and an olive I fished out of a martini. My head aches. Could you dispense with that tinny music?”

  Hurriedly Miriam flipped the switch. He dropped his briefcase in his study, then turned back, hand to his forehead. “Honey,” she said, “I’ll get you some aspirin.” She started for the steps.

  “I’d rather eat. I think it’s a hunger headache. We sold Logical. Let’s have a bite to eat—some of that lamb would do.”

  “I’m so sorry, Neil. We … ate that. I didn’t think it would be so good by tomorrow … so I thought …”

  Neil glared at Phil, slumped gracefully in the doorway. “Oh?” He sat down, forcing his head into propped hands. “Anything, then. Anything at all you didn’t get around to disposing of?”

  “I’m so sorry.… Listen, I can whip up an omelette. How about an omelette with herbs? A bite of cheese? There’s that good bread I made yesterday.” How diffident she was with Neil. Had she set him up as her conscience? Did she fear the turn of his judgment against her? Beth could not figure it out, that tremulous apologetic wavering before his solid north, an outpouring of excuses and explanations. Somehow Miriam had given over an essential part of her identity to him, to feeling sure he loved her, and she feared a glacial movement of his judgment against her. Standing before him, Miriam wrung her hands involuntarily, tense and awkward. “Listen, I could open a can of good pâté, and you could have that on bread.”

  “You aren’t planning to eat with me?”

  “Of course I’ll sit down. I had a snack.”

  “Did you happen to notice I told you that we sold Logical? Or aren’t you interested?”

  “You’ll tell me all … who’d buy Logical? I mean …” She threw a look at them, pleading. “Honey, wouldn’t you like the pâté?”

  “We’ll be going.” Phil spoke with sulky dignity. “Come on, Beth honey, I’ll give you a lift.”

  Phil drove especially fast. As she clung to the door, Beth could not help thinking how little she had yet done with her life. “Shit, shit, shit,” he was muttering, executing turns in wide stylish four-wheel drifts.

  Beth worked up the courage to say, “I thought you were into a slow suicide. Anyhow, if you won’t drive slower, let me out.”

  “I am in complete control of this car.” But in a couple of blocks he did abruptly slow down. “Okay. You don’t like me much, do you, Miss Bethie?”

  “No. I never thought you were good enough for her.”

  “And how do you rate Mr. Clean?”

  “Lower,” she said truthfully. “She’s backed into the wringer.”

  “He could have married anybody! That’s the trouble, he thinks he did. Man marries one of the finest pieces ever walked the ground, a girl with guts and imagination—most women have imaginations like pencil sharpeners—and what does he care about? Is supper ready?” He drove on through Roxbury, but instead of taking her left to her house he turned right and drove up to the top of Fort Hill and parked there, by the old tower.

  “I don’t think he’s a bad person, any more than my husband was. He’s probably kinder and more responsible than you are. It’s just what he expects of WIFE. He can’t treat her any way than as a high-class domestic servant, because that’s what she is ninety per cent of the time. He feels entitled to her undivided attention whenever he needs it, and when we’re in the way, he hates us.”

  “You know, Bethie …” He tapped the wheel. “Sometimes you seem to expect that if you said a nice word to me I might rape you on the spot. Is that it?”

  “I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. You use women for … sustenance.…”

  “You don’t like me,” he said with melancholy bravado. “You think I’m some sort of gigolo.”

  “I think you’re involved with Dorine, so what do you want with me tonight?” The gates of her sympathy were rusted against him. Her throat felt dry as if to let out an extra word would be dangerous.

  “The iron sense of property women … some women … have. See, Dorine’s been correcting me.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I’m here because I didn’t punch him in the jaw.… Dorine doesn’t want much of me. I have to do it her way or not do it, and I’ll take that but I can’t take it very far. The permanent condition is, she isn’t with me,
she’s at work. And I’m still in love with Miriam, always, Dorine knows. It’s a permanent condition like being Irish and talking too much and having my tonsils out. My tonsils won’t grow back and I love Miriam. But I’m telling you, it isn’t given to every man to have a second chance with the woman he wants. I swear I have one. He has her but he’s going to run it into the ground. I fucked up before because I was into that slow suicide scene. But I’m going to take her and that kid, and he can suck his big toe.”

  “She won’t leave him. She wants to be a good woman. That’s why she had the baby, to justify her. She wants to be good and she needs to have him love her.”

  “He doesn’t love her. He hasn’t idea one about who she is. So she panicked and fell into marriage like you’d jump off a bridge. But she’s coming back to life.”

  “Does Miriam know you still … love her?”

  “Love, love. Ariane loves banana, mashed up. Neil loves roast lamb, medium rare. Phil loves Miriam. Does she know I go crazy not able to touch her except like a puppy dog, no. She’d feel guilty. She’s always feeling guilty about something. I should have realized at some point the got-to-get-married respectable bit would grab her, she grew up in Flatbush. Should have been watching. I was so stoned all the time I couldn’t tell my ass from a wall plug. You keep your mouth shut too about this.”

  “It’s all hot air.” Beth huddled against the door. “I wouldn’t tell her anything to upset her. I want to go home. I have work to do tonight. Go find Dorine!”

  “She’d let me, let me come and whimper about Miriam. For that reason I don’t. I go to Dorine to see Dorine. You don’t comprehend that. Never mind.” He started the car. “I think if you ever smiled at me your face would fall off. Jesus, I wonder what Wanda makes of you? If the rest of the troupe is like you, I bet she’s dying of chills and anemia! Well, Miriam always likes pallid girls around who don’t compete and make her feel like Mama.”

  “Do you think she lets you come except for pity? She thinks she’s helping you.”