The Longings of Women

by Marge Piercy

  “You have?” He looked halfway pleased. “What did you do?”

  “I was in the play. This was the last weekend. I did the laundry, gave the house a good cleaning. I saw Sylvie and my brother Tommy. A nice quiet restful weekend. I thought about you a lot. I thought about us, and how I want to make it better.”

  He looked embarrassed, shifting his shoulders. Poor bastard probably spent the weekend telling Heather how he was going to break the news to his stupid soon-to-be-ex-wife, and how the marriage was over anyhow. She was not going to make it easy. She wanted time to figure out what to do, time to work on Sam. She doubted if she could keep Terry, and she was not sure she wanted to. She winced at having to play Devoted Wife seven days a week, while he permitted himself to be adored. If it wasn’t for the condo, she’d just wave him out the door. Even the old car she drove was in his name. She owned nothing but the clothes in her closet. She would walk out of the marriage twenty-five and broke.

  She saw herself back home, working at a job where she could never get ahead. She would be looking for a place to live, like the one over the cleaner’s. She would have to buy her own car, because she could not even get to work without wheels. Unless they let her keep the wreck she was driving. She had grown used to comfort, to a clean bathroom where she could shower whenever, to quiet, to space of her own. She loved her family, but she could not shoehorn herself back into that dirty noisy overrun house.

  She sat smiling at him on the couch as he hopped from channel to channel. You don’t know what desperation is, she thought at him, smiling, smiling. You’re trying to kill me. But I won’t go down easy. I won’t lie down and let you shovel me off the porch. This is war. We’ll see who can fight harder, we’ll see who can fight dirtier. We’ll see who can win.

  The next play they were doing was Dracula. Ce-Ce said vampires were very hot. This time both Becky and Sam had bigger roles. Sam was Renfield, the madman under the spell of Dracula. He had fun acting weird and pretending to eat flies. Becky was Lucy, Minna’s friend who turned into a vampire and attacked little children. Everyone was paying more attention to her now. She was going to wear a long dress and then a peignoir when she came back from the dead. She got to scream bloody murder when they killed her again with a stake to the heart. Dick Berg, of course, was Dracula. They had a torrid scene together where he fondled her and bit her neck.

  After rehearsals, she drove Sam home and they stopped on the side of his road. It was second best to have sex in the backseat, but it was good enough to keep him crazy about her. He wanted to see her every evening, but they couldn’t until the weekend, when his mother was in her studio. Saturday afternoon Becky drove to his house.

  She liked doing it in his room. It wasn’t like any bedroom she had seen. He did not have to share it with anyone. When his sister had lived at home, she had her own room too. That was how people should live. Sam’s house was not for show. It was homey and clean enough, but not the way Becky kept her space. There were newspapers and books scattered about, overgrown houseplants, begonias, African violets, herbs. The paintings did not match the furniture.

  Sam’s room had books in it, weights and a pulley and a computer. He had a surfboard and ice skates and a miniature basketball hoop. The posters were not of rock stars but of dinosaurs, geologic periods, plants and animals of the salt marsh. A mobile over the bed was a model of the solar system. It amused her after they made love to set all the planets whirling around the sun, all the moons whizzing about their planets. She felt like that with Sam: that she was immensely powerful and could make him go through his paces anytime. It was a wonderful feeling. She adored him for making her feel so strong.

  Instead of pinup posters and girlie magazines, he had guides to seashells and birds, to reptiles and amphibians. A bird’s nest he said had belonged to a chickadee sat on his bookcase. He had a perfect conch shell from Mexico and a row of slipper shells. He was cute, he was adorable. He was much more fun than Terry. He was getting better in bed. He would do anything she asked him to, and after the first time, he could fuck longer. But the major difference was out of bed: he looked at her when she spoke, and he listened. It was that attention lapping her around that kept her primed sexually. She felt as if her whole life she had been wanting to be regarded, listened to, to be the center of somebody’s total focus. That gaze electrified her. It was like the camera seeing her in the video after Joey died; it was like the men looking at her on the beach in her bathing suit. It was that, times a hundred.

  She loved to explain things to him about men and women. She could care about Sam without losing herself, without pretending to be softer or simpler than she was. She did not have to flatter him. She did not have to pretend an interest in anything she did not care about. It was Sam who had to do what she wanted. It was Sam who studied how to please her. It was Sam who begged, who waited, who hoped. She had never been happier in a relationship; perhaps she had never before been happy. Oh, her condo made her happy, but she could not remember a time when things with Terry had not been fraught, when the space between them had not been a minefield to trespass on with care.

  That week she began coming home at noon. For one thing, she didn’t want Terry bringing his girlfriend to the condo. She hoped Heather worked someplace too far to get there at lunch hour, but she was taking no chances. This was part of her Devoted Wife campaign. She was coming home to make sure he ate. “Because of rehearsals, I want us to have some extra time together.” It made for a frantic lunch hour, but this wasn’t forever. Nothing in their lives together was going to survive long.

  She sat across the table from him nibbling a salad bar plate she had picked up, while he ate the cheeseburger and fries she had brought him. She imagined him choking on the meat and her sitting there smiling as if nothing were happening. She thought, Suppose I pushed him down the steps. He’d probably just break a leg and be furious. Suppose I did something to his car. What? I don’t even know what’s under the hood of my own. My two-hundred-thousand-dollar man, going to waste. How to cash him in?

  Every day she stole a look at the forms in his drawer. He had not filled them in yet. But he would. He would. She could not wait until he sent in the forms; it would be too late then.

  Quietly after Terry had gone to bed that night, she got up and went into the kitchen. She bashed her arm with the electric iron. It was the heaviest thing she could find. It was awkward and hurt. Then she bashed her thigh. That should look impressive, and she could keep those bruises covered at the office.

  That night at rehearsals, she showed Sam the bruises. “Look. Terry’s suspicious.”

  “He did this? He hit you?”

  “He’s always hitting me, but this time he really hurt me. I don’t know what made him suspicious. You know, I won’t go to bed with him anymore. It makes me feel too bad. I belong with you, not with him.”

  “I hate him. I’d like to beat the shit out of him. I’d bash his head in. I’d knock him down and show him.”

  “I’m afraid he’s going to do something worse. He’s threatening me. I might not be able to see you any longer.”

  “Leave him, Becky. You have to leave him. I can quit school. I can get a job. I bet I’m as strong as he is.”

  “I know you are,” she said, running her hands over his shoulders and arms. “I can’t let you ruin your life for me. You need to finish high school and go to college. I want to do what’s good for you. I want to be proud of you. Now we have to go back. I just don’t know what to do. He’ll never let me leave him. He said that he’d kill me first.”

  “Do you believe him? Would he really hurt you?”

  She held up her arm, smiling wanly, bravely. “What do you think?”

  “What are we going to do? I can’t live without you, Becky. I can’t!”

  “I can’t live without you, either. Maybe we should kill ourselves. Because if we don’t and he finds out, he’ll kill us.”

  “This can’t be real, Becky. People leave marriages every day. He jus
t has to accept that you love another guy and let you go. Then we can see each other every night. We can go out on dates.”

  “He doesn’t love me, Sam, but he’s very possessive. He won’t let me go. He’s said so time and again. If things go on this way, we can’t be together. It’s too dangerous.” She held up her arm and then swept out. Let that cook on the back burner overnight.

  The next day she rode with Helen. She told Sam that Terry was very suspicious, and she did not dare drive him home. He looked ready to cry. In the car on the way back, Helen put her hand on Becky’s knee. “So, you got tired of the kid? Or what?”

  Becky could not speak for a moment. She was too scared. She thought of trying to pretend she did not know what Helen meant, but Helen lived under her. Who knows what she had heard? Becky finally said, “How did you know?”

  “Suddenly you got to drive yourself? Suddenly I notice he’s getting in the car with you? You think I don’t notice he’s had a crush on you for weeks? Come on, I’m not blind and I’m not stupid. Look, he’s a cute boy. You haven’t got much going with your husband, that’s obvious. So you’re playing around a little. It’s safe. He was a virgin, wasn’t he?”

  Becky nodded, too upset to speak.

  “So you won’t get AIDS from him. He’s like a little jack-rabbit, right? He was with you all last weekend, I kept track. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t tell your husband. You deserve better than you’re getting from that lump. Out of work six months and going golfing. That’s disgusting. If he was my husband, I’d throw him out.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “I saw that bruise on your arm when I was measuring you for your costume. Did he do that? Your husband?”

  Becky nodded.

  “He found out about the boy?”

  “No, he doesn’t suspect anything. But he’s very possessive. He has a terrible temper lately.… I think maybe he’s been taking something.”

  “Drugs?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never taken anything. You know, I hardly even have a beer once a week. Nobody in my family ever did drugs, so I don’t know what it’s like. Maybe it’s just the unemployment. He has such a short fuse lately.” She was trying out various stories about Terry. She watched Helen to see if she was buying this one.

  Late the next afternoon Tommy came to get his stash, but Terry was still hanging around. The three of them sat awkwardly in the living room making empty conversation. “Why don’t you go out for pizza or something?” she asked Terry. She had to leave for rehearsal at seven-twenty.

  “I’m not the one invited myself to supper,” Terry said.

  “Listen, I’ll eat later. Never mind. I was just in the neighborhood, and I’d thought I’d stop by and see my favorite sister and her old man. Hey, Becky, you got that … that blouse Mattie wants to borrow off of you?”

  “Sure, Tommy, sure.” She ran into the bedroom. The package was in her dresser. She pinned it inside a blue blouse she had never liked and brought it into the living room on its hanger. “Here, Tommy. Mattie can give it back to me next week.”

  “What’s this about?” Terry grimaced.

  “Mattie’s getting her picture taken with the kid and she wanted something blue and simple.”

  He got up off the couch. “Isn’t that the blouse my mother gave you?”

  “Yes. It’s such a nice blouse, Mattie will look great in it.”

  “I don’t think you should go giving away things my mother gave you.” Terry took hold of the blouse. “What is this?”

  Tommy lunged, but Terry had found the package pinned inside. “What in hell is going on here?”

  Tommy took the blouse from him, removed the packet and slipped it in the pocket of his leather jacket. “It’s just business. I needed a place to leave something for a couple of days.”

  “Are you both crazy? You get that fucking dope out of here! Are you trying to get me busted? Are you trying to destroy me? I just don’t believe this. I just don’t believe this stupidity!” Terry was pacing and screaming at the top of his lungs.

  Tommy made a fist. She could tell he was thinking of decking Terry, but decided against it. “You don’t know anything about this. Neither does my sister. Just keep your mouth shut. It was an emergency, and it won’t happen again.”

  “You bet it won’t happen. I don’t ever want to see you in my house! You get out and you get lost. Take your stupid sister with you.”

  “You don’t mean that. Becky didn’t know nothing. She’s never done drugs in her life, and neither have I. This is just something I’m holding for a friend because frankly we all need the money. Don’t you? Times are tough and everybody has to help each other out. Now stop squawking at my sister and chill out.”

  Becky was motioning for Tommy to leave. She figured she could handle Terry better if Tommy got out. He seemed reluctant. “Are you going to be all right?”

  Becky nodded fervently and waved him out the door. Terry glared at her. “You stupid bitch! Are you trying to put us both in jail?”

  “Terry, I know you’re right. But I had no idea what was in the package. He just asked me to hold it. He said it was a surprise for Mattie. And he did ask me to lend him the blue blouse.” She wrang her hands, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. This was a total mess. Just when she had been getting him softened up. Here he had his excuse to dump on her. “I figured he’d bought Mattie some jewelry. I never looked in the package. Maybe I was too trusting, you know I’m inclined to be way too trusting. I really ask your forgiveness. But I never did anything wrong. All I did was believe what he told me.”

  “Then you’re as stupid as he is! Your whole family are a bunch of stinking Portuguese lowlifes off the docks. You all smell of fish. You live in a shack that smells like the men’s room in the subway. You probably grew up fucking the family goat!”

  She could not speak. She could not open her mouth. Tears came to her eyes and ran down her face. He turned away with a snort of disgust and slammed into the bedroom, shutting her out. But her tears were tears of rage. She had no more time to act. She had to get Sam to help her, and if that failed, then Tommy. She had to get rid of Terry before he could hurt her anymore. She would never forgive him what he had said about her and her family, never. Now he was the enemy. She had to turn him into money.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Mary

  Beverly stayed for a while in a shelter. Then she moved back onto the streets. It was well past the holidays and none of Mary’s people were traveling. When Beverly wanted to see Mary, she would leave a message with the cleaning service. Beverly knew Mary was having trouble finding a place to sleep. It was down to the teens every night. Sunday it snowed five inches. It was a hard time to be sleeping in church basements and unlocked garages. Mary had slept so little she was rapidly approaching a state of nodding out while standing, not only vividly unpleasant but dangerous.

  Tuesday evening they met in the Symphony T station at six. They sat on a bench sharing what they had. Beverly had some day-old doughnuts she had been given at the back door of a Dunkin Donuts. Mary had a can of sardines she had slipped into her bag in Mrs. Baer’s kitchen, an orange, two carrots, two apples she had bought, and the end of a loaf of rye bread Mrs. Baer had been throwing out.

  Mary had thought maybe Beverly put up with her in the hospital, where she was helpless in the hands of a bureaucracy she mistrusted. But the women went on meeting. They shared food. They knew each other’s problems. To no one else could Mary talk honestly and openly about her life. She talked and talked, and so did Beverly. They described their marriages to each other, without making things nice or pretty. If Mary’s life had been lived in the middle or even the upper middle class and Beverly’s had been working-class, that did not matter now.

  People glanced at them oddly. Beverly was no longer cleaned up. Her hair was a scraggly grey-brown mass under her greasy orange hat. She had picked up a set of clothes in layers, odd washed-out colors poking through. Mary was respectable, as always, her h
air combed, her wool hat on straight, her carry-all and her newish bag in order.

  If Beverly had been sitting alone, people would have walked by without looking at her. Mary remembered that invisibility. Passersby almost never made eye contact. They pretended not to see that the odd bundle of rags in the doorway was alive. She remembered how that avoidance and scorn made her feel unworthy. She had begun to shun contact. She had looked down. She shuffled along with her chin lowered so she wouldn’t see people who pretended they could not see her.

  She sat up stiff and straight and tried to shut out the curious glances. “So where are you staying?”

  “That’s what she wanted to see you about. You’re welcome too.”

  “It’s too late for a shelter.” It was too late by the time she got done with work. To get a bed, she would have to be there before four.

  “This is a place of our own. It’s a great abandoned building. Houdini found it. You know Houdini, don’t you?”

  “I’ve met him.” Houdini had lived on the streets for ten years. He was famous for being able to get into locked-up structures, into vans and buildings. He had been caught often enough and done time, but he was always back on the streets and looking for a place he and whoever he let in could camp.

  “He invited her in on this new crib. She’ll take you there.”

  “Are you … with him now?”

  “Houdini? He’s married to a bottle. The guys are upstairs, Houdini and a boy they call Mouse. She’s downstairs. She got an apartment of her own, even a mattress. Wait till you see.”

  From the station, they walked south and east. The empty building was past the edge of the gentrified district. It was boarded up and marked with big NO TRESPASSING signs, but Beverly led the way around to a basement entrance. The door was closed by a chain with a rusty padlock on it, but the chain had been cut and simply hung together loop into loop, so that the break was not obvious. Rats scuttled away as they came in. Mary used her flashlight. Red eyes caught the beam and then were gone. Beverly led the way to the stairs. The basement smelled like a toilet, and Mary gagged and shivered. It felt as cold down here as it was out in the street, minus the steel edge of the wind.