American Masculine (13 page)

“How could this happen?” she yelled at him.

“I have no damn idea,” he replied.

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

“Shut your mouth.” He stared at her as she lifted Jessie and took her upstairs. Jessie began to cry. He wanted to strike Tori’s face. “Seven thirty.” His voice over the phone was blank and cold.

In the end, Tori was punctual, they left Jessie with a babysitter, and the party was the usual—too long, dry, dim, and full of glib words and fine-scented hand shakes, an evening Tori devoted almost entirely to thoughts of the upcoming Thursday night, of her and John, and how far she might take him.

When the party was over Shannon opened the car door for her, and they drove the edge of the rims and down Twenty-seventh into the city, east for some miles on I-90, until they took the off-ramp and approached the single stoplight that bordered on their development. As they drove he thought of the purpose of work and his life with Tori—he felt like a ghost among his peers now that she was so remote. Without her, he told himself, I’m plain. No verve. No fire. They lived in a tract of recent houses that ascended in price toward their own and a few others, small castles over the gray-white gleam of the Yellowstone, over waters that moved and roiled and carried things north to the Missouri and east and suddenly down through the heart of America to the Gulf of Mexico.

In the distance the stoplight was red. It was 1:00 a.m. Really, he hasn’t changed much, she thought. But into her original hope an increasing hostility had come, which she felt she could not get rid of in herself, and even less so in him. It saddened her, how ineffectual people became with one another. She was holding a pen, using the high electric lights of the street to view the logo of her firm on the shaft. Shannon cruised through the red light.

“What in hell are you doing?” she said.

“Running a stoplight,” he replied.

“You could have gotten us killed.”

“Unlikely, Mrs. Secrest.” His face was straight ahead, gray, hard. “No cars for miles.”

“Do you mind?”

“Mind what?” He drove, eyes on the road.

“Nothing.” She turned her face to the glass. It amazed her, the loathing he could generate in her. Immediately she challenged herself. I shouldn’t be so small. She turned to him thinking she might touch his shoulder, perhaps his face. His body, hunched over the wheel, repulsed her. She faced the window again.

THE NEXT DAY AT WORK, on coffee break, she sat next to John in the community room and placed her hand over his. They were at a large oval table with four of their colleagues: three women, one man.

“Nice hands,” she said and pushed her palm down and let her fingers touch the sides of his. She loved his hands. The others looked at her, and he at them, and he removed his hand and shifted his upper body a little away. “You’re crazy,” he said, and he laughed some.

“It’s nothing,” she said lightly. “Calm down.” She folded her hands in the form of a prayer and staged a prude look, and some levity came to the group. Frank, the only other man, put his tongue in his cheek and mocked her. “It’s nothing,” he said and lifted his arms and tried to kiss Iris, the office manager in her sixties, stocky and blue-haired, in charge of the firm’s infinite details. Iris put her fist in Frank’s way and said, “Get off me, punk.” Then she lunged at him like she might bite him. Everyone laughed.

Beneath the table John touched his knee to Tori’s, keeping it there. Okay now, she thought, though she found the movement somewhat humorous, him pressing himself against her under the table while the others mechanically ate their lunches. People are like cows, she thought, and John thought, She’s easy, and he felt easy himself, but wary of anyone knowing.

ON THURSDAY WHEN Shannon arrived at John’s house with Jessica in his arms, Tori was surprised at how attractive he looked, his outline framed in sun, big hands holding Jessie. It reminded her of how things used to be. John’s wife, Katherine, waved Shannon over. Exceptionally slender, Tori thought as she watched Katherine. Religious, John had mentioned, very strong belief. Likely an unconscious mind, Tori thought. They’d never met. Tori didn’t know Katherine had a law degree from DePaul, having graduated in the top five percent of her class, and that she was the pride of her father, a hardline Irish Catholic and the most feared lawyer in Helena before he retired. Katherine pegged Tori as highbrow, and unhappy. One to watch out for.

Shannon went to Tori and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. She didn’t make eye contact and he noticed how lit up she was, distracted and giddy. He felt a rise of adrenaline subtle and high in his chest. He felt small hearted and base, the malice inside him like the outline of an animal in the dark. Jessie was clinging to him, and Tori came close and said, “Hi, baby. Mommy missed you today.” Jessie made a shy, muffled sound and buried her face in Shannon’s chest, and Tori felt a slight sense of shame. She kissed the back of Jessie’s head.

Tori wore a new black shift, of loosely fitted rayon with a cowl neck, sleeveless but businesslike. Shannon hadn’t seen the dress before and almost unconsciously he felt his longing surface. The dress was alluring if overdone here on John’s five-acre plot in the flat just west of town. Shannon admired her tonight, desired her, and he could see she knew it. Just feelings, he said to himself, and he thought of earlier days, dust in a haze over the land, the violent pulse of the horse beneath him, how fully a man must commit to break a steer down. He’d hold on to Jessie, he decided, give Tori the freedom to float.

The house was two stories, the main floor on the top level. Tori led Shannon across the living room and out onto the deck and stood with him as he surveyed the land, a large vegetable garden and a row of fruit trees at the far end of the yard, the neighboring houses distant but distinct, and the blond plains reaching west in the long light of day. Everything but the land was solitary and small under a wide, wide sky. She felt small herself until she saw John directly below her on a narrow cement patio. He stoked the barbecue. “Quite a garden he’s got,” Shannon said quietly as he looked down at John, and then out to the garden. Tori walked toward the stairs that led down from the deck to the patio and felt Shannon stay behind. She pictured the tether between her and her husband as fine as the thread of a spider. She pictured a slight wind following her, bending the thread, breaking it.

As she descended the stairs he said, “You’re going back to work later tonight, aren’t you?” He wanted to follow her down, catch her and grab her hand and stop her. Talk to her. Say something good or hopeful, something significant.

“There’s a rodeo this weekend in Huntley Project,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, not looking back at him. “Thanks for understanding.” She put a lilt to her voice to make him happy. From the angle of the stairs she was out of his sight, and he stayed behind.

Changed from his business suit, John was in Levi’s and a white oxford with his back turned to her. Smoke rose from the grill when he opened the lid. He wore penny loafers without socks. Beyond him was the vegetable garden, rows of soil, stalks of corn, sunflowers, the single row of fruit trees. Apple trees, Tori noted.

“Nice.” She put her hand on his shoulder.

“Oh,” he said. “The garden. That’s Katherine’s.” He didn’t look at her. Having her here felt foreign. Why did I invite her? he wondered. He thought of his wife, her good Irish features, her long brown hair, how well she handled the kids. Then he met Tori’s eyes, and seeing her this close he wanted to touch her. He put his hands in his pockets.

Tori liked how he smelled, like sage and lime. She left her hand on him and was aware of her lingerie, her black stockings lined with a band of lace high on each thigh, the black thong and silk bustier she’d modeled this morning in the mirror. She’d felt sexy in the early light, the quiet of her own house, as she pulled the stockings high and aligned the thong and clasped the bustier, her torso thin and tight, her breasts raised.

John glanced at her hand, and she drew nearer, and looked past him up to the deck. Shannon was gone, probably off introducing Jessica to John’s children. She leaned toward John. She could kiss him now.

“John.” It was Shannon at the top of the stairs, starting down. “What are you working on these days?” Tori took her hand away. John faced Shannon as he descended still carrying Jessie, her head tucked to his chest.

“Oh,” John said. “We’re checking write-offs.” He turned and lifted the lid again. He was grilling steaks, cuts as thick as bricks.

“Write-offs?” Shannon said. He stroked Jessie’s hair.

“Last year’s expense accounts,” John said. “For the VPs mostly. Make sure no one’s trying to slip things through.”

“They take advantage?”

“Not much,” John said.

MARRIAGE WAS SUPPOSED to be a good thing, Tori thought. But why? She was in John’s house seated across from him, and she liked the view, the dark wooden table, and John’s face near enough to touch. The scene was almost too put together: crystal tumblers and fluted wine glasses, heavy earth-toned plates, pewter dinnerware. She ran her fingers along the table edge. Katherine sat next to John, Tori next to Shannon, the four of them in an intimate square over dinner. Harmless, she thought.

“Listen,” John said as he tilted his head. “Worse than animals.” His boys were in the kitchen with Jessie and the sitter, their voices colorful and revved up.

“Wouldn’t trade it for the world,” said Shannon. His head was down and Katherine was looking at him.

“How do you keep your hands so clean?” Tori said to John as she slipped her fingers under his and examined his hand. “A man’s hands say things,” she said.

“Really?” Katherine asked. “Like what?”

“How he takes care of himself. How nervous he is, or confident.” Tori let her fingers caress him. “John has gentle hands, you can tell he’s meticulous.”

Likes to test the water, thought Katherine. John coolly drew his hand back.

“He
is
gentle,” Katherine said. She put her arm around him and kissed his cheek, and John leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. Under the table his leg touched Tori’s.

Katherine opened her hands on the table. “Let’s see Shannon’s,” she said.

“What do you think you’ll find?” Shannon laughed. He put his hand in hers.

“Something good, I’m sure.” Katherine turned his hand over, surprised at how thick it was. “You’ve done some work in your life, haven’t you,” she said. “And not just in the ivory tower.” She emphasized “ivory” and winked as she released him.

Tori patted Shannon’s arm. “He’d keep himself locked up there for days if he could. Wouldn’t eat or shower.” She laughed a little. John smiled.

Shames her husband, thought Katherine. “When you’re at work,” she asked, “what do you do with your daughter?”

“Day care,” said Shannon. “Or sometimes I take care of her.”

“I couldn’t do it,” Katherine said to Tori. “Not seeing my children.”

“We give her the love she needs,” Tori said. “And more.” “Of course,” said Katherine.

John shifted and faced his wife. “It’s not like you don’t work,” he said. “You still think like a lawyer.”

Katherine smile was ironic. “Life of leisure,” she said.

AFTER DINNER THEY cleared the table and walked the angled hall to the kitchen while the kids watched a Disney video in the front room. Tori followed John, taking the outline of his body in her mind and animating it to her will, his hands touching her as he lifted her, his voice speaking her name in the dark. Shannon helped Katherine load the dishwasher, while the sitter, slight and blond, perhaps fifteen, washed the serving dishes and wine glasses. Tori and John carried coffee cups to the dining room.

“They’ll be in, in a minute,” John said.

“Yes,” Tori said as she placed the cups on the table. John’s neck was flushed. She glanced at the children, at her daughter’s fine hair and the backs of the boys’ heads. John wiped a spot from the table with his fist. She went to him, took his face in her hands, and drew her lips over his mouth.

She held him, prolonging the kiss, making it lush. She felt him gather, and she meant to keep him there, but he pulled away and looked at her, his eyes darting between her and the kitchen, then to the kids.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Take me,” she said.

“What?” His eyes were wide open.

“Take me seriously,” she said.

He touched her forearm. She felt airy and light-headed. “Good,” he said.

Tori went hard to the kitchen and from behind put her arms around Shannon’s waist. “I have to go back to work,” she said. “Go,” he said. “Don’t work too hard.”

“I won’t.”

“Can’t stay for dessert?” Katherine asked.

“No.”

Leaving the kitchen, Tori quickened her step. In the hall she nodded to John, and he said, “I’ll meet you.”

“Don’t take too long.” she replied. She blew him a kiss, and felt foolish. He walked quickly to the kitchen, as she went to say good-bye to Jessie.

Tori lifted Jessie and kissed her cheek, but Jessie squirmed, wanting to watch the video, and Tori set her down again next to John’s boys. Jessie looked up and said, “Mommy,” a sound plaintive and demanding. Tori nodded and Jessie said it again, louder, raising her tiny hand. She wanted Tori to sit down.

Tori didn’t want to sit down. She stared at Jessie’s hand and marveled at the impatience conveyed in so small a gesture. She touched Jessie’s head. She felt overwhelmed by her daughter’s neediness. “Mommy,” Jessie said again, and Tori retracted her hand, walked to the sliding door, and went outside. She wanted to feel lighthearted. She wanted John in close proximity; she couldn’t wait inside and didn’t want to leave. She went down the steps onto the grass and made her way to the apple trees because she liked their knotted look, their bent limbs nearly leafless now. She passed one tree, then another, and suddenly felt tired and sat down on a low outstretched limb.

She looked at John’s house. The lights had come on, the windows blooming yellow in the half-dark. No one was at the kitchen window. Through the sliding door she made out the head of her daughter facing away from her. Despite everything, she wanted to stay where she was, to lie down beneath the tree and sleep and forget everything—Shannon, her child, the game she had with John. She closed her eyes and put her head in her hands and breathed in and out for what seemed a long time. She lifted her head again and let her eyes adjust as she tried to make out the form of her daughter in the light of the house, but Jessie wasn’t there. In the kitchen with Shannon, Tori thought, and she turned her face to the garden.