by Marge Piercy
“You’ve been so damned sanctimonious for years, as if I’m something to be endured. Sheryl loves me. She loves me passionately.”
Leila stood up and fetched his coat. “That’s enough, Nick. We’ll see each other in the presence of lawyers, and we will not talk about love and passion and your justifications for fucking very young women. Good night.”
“You’re a ball buster, Leila. We could have stayed together if you’d been more forgiving and more giving.”
“I’ve given at home and the office too. I’m all given out. You’re getting what you deserve. Enjoy.”
“I intend to.” He slammed the door.
“So do I,” she said to the door. “If I still know how. At least I know how to enjoy quiet.” She would not see him again. It was too painful. It left her with the feeling of having dined on broken glass.
THIRTY-NINE
Becky
Becky wished day and night she had money to give Mama. Mama had been taken to the hospital with chest pains that turned out to be her heart. She looked ten years older and her skin was blotchy. Becky was scared for her. If only Terry would get a job, any damned job, she could slip a little money to her mother. Mama wasn’t supposed to eat fat, but who could eat a fancy yuppie diet with a house full of grown-ups and children to feed? Fried dough was one of the easiest things to fill the kids up in the mornings.
Tommy had his own wife and little one to support. Tommy knew he had to bring in more money than scalloping could. “I’m gonna do more work for The Guys,” he told her quietly. He had been growing a mustache, very black, and he liked to rub it. It was large and glossy on his face, like the bow on a package.
“You don’t want to do that! You know what Papa always says.”
“Look where Papa is. You don’t do well doing good. Somebody’s got to sell their ass around here, right? Joey’s dead. Somebody’s got to keep the family above water, and I don’t see no line forming.”
“I wish I could help, Tommy. I wish I could help.”
“You do what you can, Becca, I know. That paperweight you married, if he’d get up off his ass, then your life would be a lot easier.”
A year ago, six months ago, she would have leapt out of her seat to defend her man. Now she just shrugged. “I don’t know what to do with him. I got no assets, Tommy. He and his parents have tied up everything.”
“You pay the fucking rent.”
“But his parents co-signed on the condo. It isn’t rent, it’s maintenance and fees.”
“I don’t care if they call it tips, you pay it every month. He’s one of those packages you buy something in like deodorant and it looks like you got a quart there, but by the time you open all the plastic and paper, inside is an itsy-bitsy little bottle that’s not worth piss.”
She laughed, she couldn’t help it. “I made a mistake. I thought he was so special. Now if I divorce him, I’m out all the money I put in. Tommy, I hope Mattie knows what a good man she has.”
He grinned. “She knows. She waited for me long enough, didn’t she? Now you don’t say a word about this to Terry.”
“Why would I? We never say a word except to fight.”
It seemed to her that for two years, she had spent half her time brooding about how to please Terry, how to attract, how to placate him. Now she seldom thought of him unless he was in front of her or he had left some mess to clean up. No, she thought about Sam. He was just a kid, she knew that, but he really revved her up.
She waited the next night they put on the play to see what would happen. Was he scared now? Would he dare try to approach her again? She neither moved toward him nor away from him. If he comes after me tonight, then I’ll know it’s real. The play was half over and they were both standing around backstage. She went off to the bathroom in the basement. When she came out, he was waiting. “Please!” he said. “Please!” His voice was thick and urgent.
The basement was damp and cold. He seized her arm and dragged her into a room they used to build sets. He shut the door and began to kiss her immediately, as if he had been thinking of absolutely nothing else. He held her tight against him as if he could pull her into his body through the clothes. He was strong for his size. They kissed and kissed, almost violently. She was sure he was a virgin. That excited her. She wanted to. But not here and now. She pushed him away. “We have to go upstairs. We’ll miss our cues and that will be the end of this.”
He heard her and let go. They went upstairs, tidying themselves frantically. She was astonished to notice that it was only the next scene. They had been downstairs no more than nine or ten minutes.
It made her feel hot just the way Sam looked at her. She did not wonder what she should do. She knew. But she wanted to make him wait. She would make him want her until he could not endure it. This fierce desire was the strongest thing she had ever touched in her life. It was like sticking her fingers into a socket of electric desire. The hairs of her head stood.
They would not meet again until Friday when the play resumed. Two more weekends. Then they would begin to rehearse another play. She would play any role. She would build sets, sew costumes, get down and wipe the floor.
That night Terry was not home when she got back. He must be out with Lyle or Chris. Still, the next morning while he was in the shower, she went through his clothing. His shirt and his jacket both had a scent. Not aftershave. Perfume. Sylvie’s aunt Marie wore that. Cerissa, that was it. Well, whoever had left that scent on his shirt was not Aunt Marie, and it surely wasn’t Chris or Lyle. He might have been dancing with somebody. He might have hugged somebody’s girlfriend—but his kind were not huggers. At most they proffered a cheek for a peck. She helped herself to a five and two singles and some quarters. Almost every day she taxed his pockets. She felt a sharp searing contempt that he never knew how much money he had. In the midst of their difficulties, he never bothered counting his money. His parents gave him money and he shoved it in his pocket. There was plenty more where that came from.
She was going to watch Terry carefully. If he had a girl, she was in real trouble. But she also took it as a sign she could proceed with her heart’s desire, or maybe it wasn’t her heart. She had never before experienced pure lust, and this was pure enough, simple as sugar, burning as the moonshine the locals sometimes cooked in their garages. She had always wanted other things from men, a marriage, a home, an education, nice things. Sam couldn’t give her a thing besides sex and adulation.
Friday she told Helen she was going to have to take her own car to the play, as she had a couple of stops to make on the way. She did not go downstairs with Sam. Instead she muttered to him, “Tell Dick Berg your mother is picking you up. I’ll drive you home.”
Afterward, Becky had thought she might have to make an excuse to hang around till everyone had left, but Dick Berg was involved in being fussed over by ex-students who had come to the play. Becky simply got in her car and waited till Sam joined her. She drove off at once, before he could touch her. She drove him almost back to his house, making polite conversation. He seemed very nervous. She enjoyed that. She loved the way his emotions showed in his body, like Helen’s dog Florrie. He quivered with his feelings. It was marvelously exciting; she felt in total control. She did not pause in her driving until she judged they must be near his house. They were on a dark road. She pulled over to the side and turned out her lights. Then she turned to face him. “Do you want to kiss me?” she asked unnecessarily.
What he lacked in finesse, he made up in enthusiasm. He was a fast learner too. His tongue-kissing had already improved. It was great to be kissing and not have to worry about anyone walking in on them or about missing a cue. She dug her hand into his curly hair, like the pelt of a fine animal, ran her hands across his back. Compactly built. Strong. He felt much solider than Terry, denser. It would be fun to take his clothes off, but she wasn’t about to do that in the car. They would go one step at a time, with him never being sure she would do it or not. She smiled against his shoulder.
This desire was like the strong, strong black coffee Mama made for Papa. She had it as a child diluted with milk and thick with sugar. She remembered the first time she had had it the way her father took it early in the morning. It had snapped her head back, scalding and making her heart beat fast at once. Yes, she had thought, this is real. This is what it is really like. Taking hold of Sam was that way.
She put his hand on the top button of her blouse. Unbuttoning, he was less clumsy than Terry, a lot more eager. He touched her briefly through the lace of the bra, then reached behind her and unhooked it. He was quick with his hands. She smiled, catching her breath. Would he be disappointed she was not larger? He did not seem so. She did not think he was about to make comparisons. They had the windows down. The night was mild and something smelled faintly sweet. The little leaves rustled seductively, like taffeta.
She was beginning to liquefy, so after a few minutes, she drew back and buttoned her blouse. It was time for words. “You know I’m married. You saw my husband, Terry.”
“I love you!” Sam said fiercely, trying to pull her back to him.
“I think I love you,” she said, wondering what it really meant. She had thought she loved two men, and she had grown to hate both of them. “But if my husband finds out how I feel, he’ll really make a lot of trouble, I mean it.” She chose her words carefully. She did not want to scare him off, but neither did she want him to think this was going to be easy.
“Would he hurt you?”
She nodded. “We have to keep him from finding out.”
“Why can’t you leave him?”
She wasn’t about to give him a lecture on economics, not yet. “He’d never let me go. Not willingly. I have to take you home now.”
“Tomorrow? Can we do this tomorrow?”
“I’ll try.” She liked the idea of keeping him in suspense. But nothing would have prevented her. She asked him about his schedule. She wanted to know where he was after school. His sister had married and left home. His mother had a studio where she threw pots and taught classes. She came home around six Tuesdays through Saturdays. His father was dead, his mother had a boyfriend.
Becky decided to have sex with him. She wanted to more than anything, but she wasn’t about to let him know that yet. But where? She wasn’t ready to fuck him in the car. Kissing and pawing each other were fine for the car, but she wanted a real seduction scene. She wanted to take his clothes off slowly and look at him and have him really look at her. She had some nice underwear that Terry didn’t notice any longer, a reserve of sexy lingerie from her days at Lady Grace. A couple of times, Terry had brought home a porn movie along with the usual action films they rented. But they had never done the things she had seen in those films. Basically Terry watched them till they both got hot and then he just climbed on top of her, as usual.
She was convinced that Sam would do anything she asked him to. She felt immensely powerful. She felt as if she had grown huge and almost menacing as she drove too fast home, to make up for the time with Sam.
Mid-afternoon Saturday while Terry was at his parents, she called Sam at home. She hoped he would be there, because he had told her he used the weekends to catch up on homework. Still she felt cramped with anxiety until she heard his voice.
“Are you home alone?” she asked him.
“Yes. Is he with you?”
“He’s at his parents. He’s always there. Never mind him. Where are you?”
“I’m in my bedroom.”
“I’m lying on my bed. I have on a black teddy with tiny straps and you can see through the bosom. That’s all I have on.”
“I wish I could see you.”
“Close your eyes. I’m lying on a blue bedspread. Now I’m sliding the straps of my teddy down. I’m circling my breast with my fingers, very lightly.”
He moaned and she smiled. “Now I’m squeezing my breast hard. Can you feel it? Harder. Now light again. Now my hand is moving down my belly. Now I touch the hairs. My hand just grazes them. My hand is moving over my mons and squeezes it. You know where that is?”
“I want to touch you. I want to touch you everyplace.”
“Now I’m sliding my hand between my legs.” No use getting too technical. He wasn’t acquainted with the scenery. He’d learn. “I’m touching myself. I’m thinking of you and touching myself.”
“Becky, Becky, let me do it. Let me do it to you.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know. Would you tell anyone if I let you touch me?”
“I’d never tell a soul. Not my best friend. I swear it.”
Suddenly she heard Terry’s key. “Husband,” she said and hung up, grabbing her clothes and running for the bathroom. She dropped the teddy into the hamper and pulled on her jeans. She felt uncomfortable in her pants. She had intended to make herself come, but not until she had Sam really, really worked up. She washed her hands and burst out.
“How’re you doing?” she asked heartily. “How are the folks?”
“Chris wants me to go golfing with him next weekend in Waterville. A guy where he works has a time-share condo we can have next weekend for … next to nothing.” He glared at her, expecting her to scream about wasting money when he was out of work. “With two other guys. Chris says one of them might have a job for me. Even if it rains all weekend, I can work on him.”
She didn’t believe that for one moment, but she did not care. Pro forma she asked, not to seem too eager, “It’s not too expensive, is it? Maybe you could meet this guy some other way?”
“How? I’d never run into him. This way I’ll be with him all weekend, and I can really impress him. I’d ask you to go, but it’s guys, and you don’t play golf.”
“You were going to teach me. But I can’t go. The play. That’s the last weekend.”
“You really like this play-acting?” He asked that with less sarcasm than he had shown in weeks.
“It gives me confidence, and it gives me experience so maybe I can finally get my boss to give me a chance on camera.”
“Sounds great,” he said with obvious insincerity.
She thought, he wants to go away, maybe with whoever wears Cerissa, and I want to get Sam into bed. A perfect weekend for both of us. I just have to get his schedule straight in my head. “I’m so glad you haven’t given up, and you’re trying to make new contacts. Would you like to go out for Mexican tonight before the play? I don’t have to be there until a quarter of eight.”
“Italian,” he said. “Then I’ll take in a movie with Chris and his new girlfriend.”
“Oh, what’s her name?”
There was a long silence. She could imagine him trying to decide whether to give her the name of the woman in question, who obviously was the Cerissa Sweetie. “Heather.”
“That’s such a pretty name,” Becky said. “Heather who?”
“I didn’t catch her last name.”
He wasn’t quite that stupid, to give her his girlfriend’s whole name. He would dump her for this girl with his parents’ help, if she wasn’t careful. “I’ll use the time next weekend to give the house a good cleaning, catch up on ironing. You know how I hate to iron!” She really was a good wife, as Helen was always telling her. She would make the condo perfect. She would also get Sam up here and into the bedroom. She felt her legs soften and begin to sag when she thought of him lying there obediently with a giant erection. Maybe they could work out a way for him to spend the whole night.
“I really appreciate your being good about this. It’s important to me. This guy could be really useful.” Terry put his hands tentatively on her shoulders. She could feel him begin to think about sex. She was agreeable. She was still turned on from the phone call. It was amusing to think of carrying that energy to Terry, who had seldom excited her in the last six months. She did not feel it was her he was having sex with, just a convenience.
She smiled seductively. “I want what’s best for you, Terry, you know.”
They beamed at each other
and kissed in a tight embrace, for once totally in harmony and both, she was fully aware, lying their heads off.
FORTY
Leila
Leila thought that David and she could have a good vacation together without invoking Christmas. She discovered that David was used to Christmas and felt deprived—or used that as a way of protesting the upheaval in their lives. Finally they went out on December 24 and bought a small tree. However, she had given the old ornaments to Nick. Last Wednesday, while she was at school, she had told Mrs. Burke to let him in. His study was stripped. His dresser stood empty. When she arrived home, his closet had contained only discarded clothes she packed up for Goodwill.
She had hoped that David’s presence would cheer her, but he closeted himself in Nick’s former study for long, long conversations with Ikuko. He then rushed out to see old friends home from college. Christmas, he announced, he was spending with Nick and Sheryl. “I can hardly refuse to visit my father, and he is marrying her. I want to see their scene, frankly, and there isn’t going to be any Christmas here, is there?”
She felt sorry for herself. She called Jane, who invited her over. However, she had not backed off from a holiday meaningless to her, disappointing David, in order to partake with Jane and Emily. She thanked Jane profusely but declined. Then she sat stroking Vronsky, wondering what to do with herself.
The hole in her life from Melanie’s death had had a strong influence on ending her marriage. She was needy, and she was not supposed to be. She was not the partner allowed to make scenes and demands. She had broken the silent contract of their marriage. Perhaps being the steady nurturer had depended ultimately on her being nurtured too, and without Melanie, she had fierce needs and sudden loneliness. She was still thinking as if she were married.
She called Zak. She gave him little time to question her, but told him what had happened and asked him if she could leave to join him right away.
“Come ahead. I’ve just been given half a bushel of oysters by my neighbor, after I let him chop down a young fir on my land. Do you eat traif?”