Hearts (11 page)

Sally came back into the room and took the baby from Linda’s arms. She handled it roughly, distractedly, as if it wasn’t hers, either.

Linda and Robin stood at the same time. “This was really great, Sally,” Linda said. “Like old times.”

“Wait till I tell Rod about you dropping in like this,” Sally said. “He’ll get a real kick out of it.”

He’ll probably shoot you, Linda thought.

“Listen, take care,” Sally said. “And keep in touch.”

Robin and Linda got into the car. “Cat got your tongue?” Linda asked. As she drove away, a handful of small pebbles scattered against the windshield, making her flinch. Bambi could be seen racing across the lawn and into the house.

13
I’m blue for you

Dear Iola,

I certainly am blue for you. We have been on the road for several days now. You won’t believe all the crazy things that have happened …

Just a little love note

Dear Iola,

As it says above, this is just a little love note to let you know that yours truly has not forgotten her old friends. So much has happened since I saw you last that I don’t know where to begin …

Better late than never!

Dear Iola,

Remember me? This letter certainly is late! I can’t believe we’re in Illinois! There is so much I have to tell you …

Linda let the paper and pen, and the Bible she was leaning on, slip down the side of the bed to the floor. She had started several letters to Iola during the trip, using the stationery Iola had given her, but she never finished writing any of them. She would fall asleep in the middle, or put the page aside to watch television
with Robin, or go out to supper and forget about it. The longer she put off writing, the more difficult a chore it seemed. Her adventures were getting too complicated to convey on a mere piece of paper. It made her tired just to think about it. Yet Linda often thought of Iola herself and how much she missed her, missed that ironic good humor, her special wisdom, and her tough and enduring attitude toward almost everything. Linda wished now that she could be something like that, too—sophisticated and worldly, if not world-weary. Iola could always make her laugh, could always make her see the funny side of even grim or embarrassing situations.

Once, when they’d gone together for lunch at the sandwich shop next door to the studio, they were invited to a Tupperware party, by Rosalie, the cashier. What she had said was, “I’m having a Tupperware party at my house Friday night. Are you girls into that stuff?”

Linda had been married only two weeks and was trying very hard to ease into domesticity. It wasn’t that simple. There was Robin, of course, acting sullen and hostile all the time. And Linda had not replaced any of the household items Wright had shared with Miriam, despite his encouragement to do so. Another woman’s touch and taste were everywhere, and Linda began to long for things of her own. Why not start with Tupperware, with those little plastic containers in which she could begin ordering the details of her new life? The party itself would be enjoyable, and she would be in the company she craved, those other wives who might take her in as a member of their secret society. “Yes,” she told Rosalie. “I’m definitely into it. And I’d love to go.”

Iola had glanced at Linda quizzically, and then she said, “Count me in, too. I’ll try anything once.”

Wright was pleased with her plans. “Spend as much as you like, honey,” he said. “And have a good time.” He was going to take Robin bowling, and he kissed Linda goodbye the way he always did, as if they might be separated for years.

Rosalie lived in an apartment house in Bayonne, and when Iola and Linda arrived, the other women, about a dozen of them, were already there. The Tupperware people, a man and his wife, had set up their samples on a bridge table in the living room, and covered them with a drop cloth. They were going to make a grand presentation, Linda realized, the way car manufacturers do with the new models each year. She thought it was a pretty silly and dramatic fuss over small kitchen goods, but she tried to withhold judgment and get into the proper spirit of things. Rosalie’s husband wasn’t home, but her two small children were there, running wildly through the house in their pajamas. Rosalie kept shouting, “Bedtime! Bedtime!” which only appeared to excite the children to a greater frenzy. Finally they were threatened and bribed into submission, and were sent off to bed. Rosalie put out some Cokes and beer and a bowl of onion dip surrounded by potato chips.

The Tupperware woman, Beverly, introduced herself and her husband, Al, who hobbled around with a serious limp. She explained that they had only recently gone into the house-party business, after Al suffered an on-the-job accident that left him permanently disabled. He had to leave construction work for good, just when their financial needs were at a peak. They had one child with a congenital kidney ailment and another with severe emotional problems. But—hey!—they wanted everyone to relax and have fun—this was a
party
, remember? And
nobody had to feel obligated to buy anything, either. Then Beverly said that Al was going to leave now because he believed they would have a better time,
this
time, without a man around. That brought a little laughter, and although Linda wasn’t sure why, she joined in.

Al left, his limp seemingly worsened, and Beverly had each guest write her name on a slip of paper. These were gathered and placed into a bowl, for a door-prize drawing to be held at the end of the evening. A blond woman sitting near Linda lit one cigarette from another and said bitterly, “I never won anything in my life.”

“Oh, me neither,” Linda said, coughing into the smoke screen and trying to smile in empathy at the same time.

Beverly placed a pile of order blanks on the coffee table, next to the onion dip, and then walked over to the bridge table, where she stood holding one end of the drop cloth, like a politician about to unveil a war monument. She waited, and the noise in the room rose a little before it died away. “This is a truly amazing line of merchandise,” Beverly announced into the silence. “And I’m really proud to be associated with it. I’m really proud to be a woman, too, an
American
woman, who is modern enough to want to make my marriage an exciting and lasting relationship. Things have changed since our mother’s and grandmother’s day. Women are equal with men in many ways. We hold high-paying jobs; we are actively involved in politics and sports, science and industry. Don’t get me wrong; I’m no libber, but I am for equal rights, for freedom of choice in
certain
areas of life.” There was a murmur among the other women that
sounded half nervous, half approving. What in the world was she talking about?

“Your grandmother was chained to a hot stove all day,” Beverly continued. “Now you can choose to be chained to your bed, instead, ha-ha. Seriously, it gives me great pleasure to introduce you to these marvelous products, and to say that I hope they change your life as happily as they’ve changed mine!” With that, she yanked off the drop cloth, and there was a unified gasp. Linda, who had just dipped a chip into the sour-cream mixture, let it drip onto her blouse as she stared at the bridge table. At first she wasn’t certain what she was seeing, but then everything came into sudden and sharp focus. There were a few dozen penises on the table, in a variety of shapes and sizes and colors, and they were all as erect as soldiers called to attention.

A couple of the women cheered. Some of them giggled. “No need to get up for
me
, boys,” Iola said, her inflection like Mae West’s. And she poked Linda so hard that the dip-laden potato chip dropped into her lap.

Beverly was talking as smoothly and quickly as a sideshow barker now. “Battery-operated, safe, waterproof, rubber, plastic, lifelike, purse-size, expandable.” It was impossible to really follow her, and soon she was leaning down to pull a couple of large cartons out from under the table. “Feel free,” she said, from her kneeling position. “Examine, touch, guaranteed, batteries not included.”

One by one, the women were slowly rising and walking to the display. They were shy and giddy at first, but soon they were holding the samples with critical and solemn interest, turning them over and hefting them,
like wives at the market choosing the best fruits and vegetables for their families.

Linda stood up, too, to avoid being conspicuous by her solitary presence on the sofa. She was something like a wallflower, she realized. What was going on around here? Where was the Tupperware, those handy storage containers with the famous vacuum seal? Where were the colanders and Jell-O molds, the butter keepers and the ice-cube trays?

Beverly was adding new merchandise to the table, still maintaining her non-stop spiel: “Three-inch extenders, stud buds, Spanish fly, massage creams, pussy cushions.” Or did she say cushy push-ins? Linda saw an inflatable Playgal, “Great for gifts!”; Big-Potency Vitamins, “Move him up to
four
a day!” And on and on until the bridge table wobbled and Beverly was out of breath.

Iola picked up a plastic dildo. It was both bigger and more real than life, with a ruddy flexible tip and an incredible network of swollen blue veins. “Get a load of this,” she said. “The guy they cut this off probably bled to death in a second.”

After a while, everyone was reseated and the order slips were distributed. “Think of birthdays,” Beverly advised. “Think of Christmas.” It was early April. “There’s a ten-percent discount on all bulk orders,” she told them.

Some of the women were starting to write on their order slips. Linda felt the way she used to during essay tests in high school, when her mind and paper were still blank and the students around her were scribbling away. She supposed she would have to order something, despite
Beverly’s earlier admonition not to feel obligated. She had eaten some of the potato chips, and contributed to taking up Beverly and Al’s time. And all those handicapped people in one family. But what would she buy? She glanced at the order blank in her hand.
Free Rubber Penis With Every Purchase!
it said across the top. But the prices were so high. Sexual freedom was really expensive. Finally, Linda checked off the Big-Potency Vitamins. She was somewhat reassured by a printed promise of plain brown wrappers, but she wrote in the studio address, anyway.

Beverly collected the order slips and then drew from the bowl for the door prize. Linda prayed fervently that her own bad luck would hold. It didn’t, though. Her name was announced, and the chain-smoking blonde said, “I
knew
it,” as Linda rose, blushing madly, to receive her prize.

Beverly handed her a gift-wrapped package. At least it was small, and a conventional square shape. “Congratulations, Wanda,” Beverly said. “You’ve won a valuable set of Chinese bells.” There was some grudging applause, and Linda held the box to her ear and shook it, but there was no answering ring.

On the way home, she offered the prize to Iola, unopened. “Whatever it is,” Linda said, “I don’t think I want it.”

“You looked close to death all night,” Iola said, and Linda confessed that she had been, that some of the sexual equipment seemed lethal to her, and that the whole experience was very embarrassing.

“Well, why did you go in the first place?” Iola asked.

“Because,” Linda said. She hesitated. “Because,” she
began again, “I thought Rosalie said it was a Tupperware party.”

“Oh, no,” Iola said. “Oh, no. Oh, you poor little dummy. That was Rosalie’s idea of a joke. And she said,
Shtup
perware, didn’t you hear her?”

Linda shook her burning head. She had never even heard of Shtupperware, but there was something about the word that immediately conveyed its meaning.

When she got home that night, Wright nuzzled her neck in welcome. “You feel like a furnace,” he said. “Did you have fun?” He and Robin had had a great time at the bowling alley. She had beaten him by fifteen points. “Did you get what you need?” Wright asked, setting up new flares in her bloodstream. She assured him that she had. The stuff had to be ordered and would be sent to her in about two weeks. At least that part was the truth. And it would be easy to pick up some refrigerator jars at the store in a couple of weeks and pass them off as genuine Tupperware.

Linda watched anxiously for the arrival of the mail at the studio each day. She did so for a week or two, anyway. Then she forgot all about it. One day, Simonetti called her into his office. “This came for you, sweetheart,” he said, and handed her a small brown package. “Got a secret admirer?”

When the ladies’ room was free, Linda took the package there and opened it. The Big-Potency Vitamins looked just like the regular ones she and Wright took every morning with their orange juice. That was a relief. But there was something else in the package. It was the free rubber penis promised with every purchase. It was a ghastly violet color, and it flopped in her hand like a
wilted flower. Iola came into the ladies’ room. “What’s
that?
” she asked, and when Linda told her, she said, “The guy they cut that off probably won’t even miss it.”

On a sudden impulse to economize, Linda mixed the Big-Potency Vitamins in with the regular ones at home. She observed Wright nervously for a few days, but their sexual routine never altered.

Now Linda picked the paper, the pen, and the Bible up from the floor, and arranged them all in her lap again. She reread what she had written before, and then she added, “and so much I wish I could ask you …” She tapped her raised knee with the cap of the pen, lay back to think, and was quickly asleep.

14
They would reach Valeria by late afternoon, if there were no unforeseen problems. When she watched Robin climb into the car, Linda began to feel an anxiety she couldn’t identify. As she drove, she kept thinking ahead to the time when she’d be traveling alone. She had been alone before. And Robin had become slightly more human, but was still not a sparkling companion. So it wasn’t a separation anxiety in the usual sense.

Of course each day, each mile, brought her closer to the abortion. Her decision to have one, once she’d left Robin, had become firm, irrevocable. She couldn’t have a baby, didn’t
want
a baby. She was all alone and had to support herself and have freedom of movement. Sometimes, in moments of extreme self-pity, she would reason that she was too
young
to be a mother, knowing that, biologically at least, she was in her prime. For a few days she thought about having the baby and then giving it up for adoption, but that seemed impossible, like the romantic conclusion of a teenage novel that tries to deal with real-life problems.