Home from the Vinyl Cafe (33 page)

It was like skipping school.

The phone began to ring again.

Should have taken it off the hook, thought Dave.

Then he thought, Maybe it’s Morley. Maybe she wanted to consult him about the videos. Maybe he could ask her to get some of the black-olive paste.

Maybe if he didn’t answer, she would be worried. Or angry.

In a sudden panic, he jumped for the phone. He scooped it up on the fourth ring. He was out of breath when he said, “Hello?”

It wasn’t Morley. It was Morley’s mother.

“I phoned a few minutes ago,” said Helen. “Then I tried the store. They told me you were sick. Are you okay?”

Dave reached into his pocket, pulled out his wad of wet Kleenex, and stuffed it back in his mouth. “Just a bit of a fever,” he mumbled.

“You sound horrible,” said Helen. “You sound like your mouth is full of Kleenex.”

Dave said, “I’m okay.”

Helen said, “I wanted to see if Morley would have lunch with me.”

“Morley’s sick, too,” said Dave. He said it without thinking. The words just flew out of his mouth. He was trying to save the day. He was trying to head Helen off at the pass.

“Can I talk to her?” asked Helen.

“Too sick,” said Dave. “She’s too sick to come to the phone. She’s upstairs. Asleep. I don’t think I should wake her.”

Dave felt like he had stepped on a treadmill. Some part of him knew he should pull the brake and get off. He should tell Helen the truth. Should say, “Helen, we’re not really sick. We’re taking the day off. We’re going to spend it together. Alone.” Instead, he said, “She has fever and these little red dots.” Then, for good measure, he added, “She threw up last night.”

Helen said, “She has a rash. Maybe I should come over.”

It was a statement, not a question.

Dave could feel perspiration gathering on his forehead. His breathing was shallow. His hands were cold and damp. He was beginning to feel … sick.

Dave said, “It’s okay. We’ll be fine.”

Helen said, “I’ll bring some soup for you two and fix dinner for the kids. It’s no trouble. Don’t worry. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Morley came home half an hour later, carrying two large brown paper bags and two videos.

“I got
Wild Orchid
and
9 ½ Weeks
,” she said.

Dave picked up
9 ½ Weeks
. “It’s the original, uncut, uncensored version,” said Morley. “We’re going to see it the way it was meant to be seen.”

Dave flipped the box over. “What’s it about?” he asked.

“It’s the one with Kim Basinger,” said Morley. “The one where Mickey Rourke feeds her the giant chili pepper.” Morley reached into one of the bags and pulled out a box of chocolate-covered strawberries. Then she walked across the kitchen and put her arms around her husband’s neck. “It’s a steamy story of a love affair that breaks every taboo.”

Dave swallowed.

Morley laughed. “I got some of that olive paste you like. And some French bread,” she said.

Dave said, “There’s something I better tell you.”

Morley said, “Just a second.” She reached into the other bag and pulled out a handful of magazines. She was grinning. “This is going to be great,” she said.

Dave said, “Helen phoned. She’s coming over.”

Morley said, “You can’t be serious.”

Dave said, “I told her I was sick. Then I told her you were sick.” He pressed his hands against his forehead. His head was beginning to throb. “I didn’t know if I should tell her I was faking—we were faking. I felt like an idiot.”

Morley said, “That’s because you are an idiot.”

Dave and Morley spent the next half hour tidying up. Then Morley went upstairs and put on her old flannel nightie, which hung off her shoulders like a sack. When Helen arrived, they were both lying in bed, stiff as corpses. They weren’t speaking to each other. The two brown paper bags from the food store were under the bed on Morley’s side.

Helen said, “You look awful. Have you eaten? I’ll make soup.” She went down to the kitchen.

Dave turned to Morley and said, “I’m sorry. Come on. This isn’t my fault. She’s your mother.”

Morley looked at him and said, “I don’t believe this.” Then she reached under the bed and pulled out a chocolate strawberry and ate it as if she were alone.

Dave’s headache was getting worse. “Could I have one of those?” he asked.

“I’m not stopping you,” said Morley.

But she wasn’t offering them around, either.

Dave crawled over his wife and took two strawberries out of the bag. He was standing by the bed in a T-shirt and a pair of boxers when Helen came back in the room.

“Everything okay?” she said.

Dave rammed the second strawberry into his mouth.

“Dave?” she said.

He covered his mouth with his hand. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he said, and ran for the bathroom.

“He doesn’t look well,” said Helen to Morley.

By the time Dave was back in bed, Helen was in the kitchen again, and the oily smell of chicken soup was drifting upstairs.

Morley said, “This is a nightmare. I hate chicken soup. I had to eat chicken soup when I was a kid. That’s what she always fed us whenever we were sick. Just the smell of chicken soup makes me ill. Do something. Get her out of here.”

Dave said, “How do I get her out of here? She’s trying to help.”

“You invited her,” said Morley. “You uninvite her.”

Helen brought the bowls of soup up on a tray.

Dave’s head was pounding. His mouth was dry.

He didn’t want a scene. He didn’t want Morley to thunder out of bed and tell Helen he had lied. He would feel too stupid. It had gone too far. Please, God, he thought. Please let us carry the soup part off.

He smiled weakly at Morley. “Look,” he said. “Dry toast. Dry toast is just what I wanted.”

Morley made Dave eat her bowl of soup.

“Can’t I flush it down the toilet?” he asked. “It tastes funny. I think it’s off.” He was starting to feel queasier with every spoonful he swallowed.

“Eat it,” said Morley. “All of it.” Then she got out of bed and started to get dressed.

Downstairs, Helen was sitting in front of the television.

Morley walked into the room carrying two paper bags. She put them down and said, “The soup was great. I feel much better. I think it was one of those eight-hour things. I’m going to go for a walk. Can you stay for a while? What I’d really like to do is go to a movie. I haven’t been to a matinee for years. Would that be wicked?”

Helen frowned. “Do you really feel better?”

Morley said, “I’m fine. Could you stay with Dave? He’s not looking so good. I think he needs more soup.”

Helen brightened. She was watching a documentary on the grizzly bear. She saw Morley frowning at the screen and said, “There’s nothing else on.”

Morley picked up the two videos she had rented and
looked at them ruefully. She put them back down and gathered up the two brown paper bags.

“What’s that, dear?” asked Helen.

“Oh, just some dry cleaning,” said Morley. “I’ll drop it off on my way to the theater.”

When Helen came into the bedroom, Dave was lying under the covers, staring at the ceiling. Helen was holding a bowl of soup in one hand and a video in the other. She said, “Morley thought you might like company,” and then, lifting the video, she added, “I found this downstairs.”

Dave’s stomach began to churn. He felt as if he were strapped into the passenger seat of a car that was about to be involved in an accident. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He closed his eyes. This couldn’t be happening.

Helen flicked on the television and bent down and stared at the video player. She slipped the movie into the machine and pressed the play button.

She straightened up and kicked off her shoes and sat down on Morley’s side of the bed, arranging the pillows so she could lean against the headboard.

“It’s called
9 ½ Weeks
,” she said. “Have you heard of it?”

Dave shook his head numbly.

“Me, neither,” said Helen. “I hope it’s not full of violence.”

Dave was too ill to reply.

“This is fun,” said Helen. “I don’t think I’ve ever watched a movie in the middle of the day. I should do this more often. Eat your soup.”

               
B
etty Schellenberger and Morley were drinking coffee.

Morley said, “They’ve done studies. Even in families where men and women do equal amounts of housework, it’s the women who organize it.”

Betty nodded, her hands cradling the mug of coffee in front of her on the kitchen table.

“It’s the women,” said Morley, “who plan and assign. It’s the women who drive the train.”

Dave was washing the lunch dishes. It made him feel bad, listening to them talk. It felt personal, as if they were criticizing him. No one, he thought grimly, assigned me these dishes. He considered stopping. I wouldn’t want to overstep my boundaries, he thought. Since Morley had gone back to work in the fall, Dave had been trying to shoulder his share of the chores. But Morley was right. There was no denying it. She was management. He was labor.

It was Saturday afternoon. The sky was gray and heavy. The wind was rippling the puddles on the driveway. It looked like it could snow.