Smart Women (33 page)

“No.”

“Good.”

E
RIC NOT ONLY STAYED FOR DINNER,
he stayed overnight. “He doesn’t know anyone else in town,” Michelle told Margo as she took bed linens from the hall closet. “I’m going to make up the sofabed for him.”

That night Margo lay awake for hours. Michelle had been lively and flirtatious during dinner and Margo had suddenly seen her as Eric must, a very desirable young woman. Finally she got out of bed, put on her robe and slippers, and tiptoed through the darkened house, needing to convince herself that she should not worry, that Eric was asleep on the sofabed, alone.

But Eric was coming down the stairs as Margo was going up. They startled each other.

“Where are you going?” Margo asked sharply.

“To the bathroom. I have to take a piss.”

“There’s a toilet upstairs. Didn’t Michelle show you?”

“I must have forgotten.”

Eric followed Margo up the stairs and she led him to the half-bath, turning on the light. “Voilà.”

“Thanks.”

He was wearing only Jockey shorts and they were torn. He had a beautiful body, Margo thought, remembering the feel of his skin, the weight of him on top of her. She cleared her throat. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go prowling around the house in the middle of the night. The dog will start barking and wake everyone and tomorrow is a school day.”

“Okay.” He put his hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. “And Margo, I want you to know I appreciate your letting me stay the night.”

“Everything is different now, Eric. This is my home. These are my children. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Sure.” He took his hand away. “In the canyon you were a woman. Here you’re a mother.”

“That’s not exactly it,” Margo said, “but it’s close.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ve still got to piss.”

She could hear him splashing into the toilet as she tiptoed back down the stairs.

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
without Margo’s permission, Michelle rode off to school on the back of Eric’s Honda. Margo watched from the kitchen window, her stomach in knots.

When she got home from work Eric was in the driveway, working on his bike. “What are you doing here?” Margo asked.

“Michelle invited me to stay for a few days, until I can find a place of my own.”

“A place of your own? Here in Boulder?”

“Yeah . . . this town has good vibes. I got a part-time job today, working on a construction crew up in Sunshine Canyon.”

Margo marched into the house and went directly to Michelle’s room. Michelle was humming to herself and writing in her diary. “He cannot stay in this house,” Margo said. “We have enough people living here.”

“But, Mother . . .”

“No, Michelle. You should have discussed it with me first.”

“You can’t just kick him out. At least let him stay tonight.”

Margo let out a heavy sigh.

“Please, Mother . . .”

“Tonight is absolutely the last night, Michelle. Andrew’s parents are coming to town on Thursday.”

“I don’t see what Andrew’s parents have to do with Eric. They’re not staying here. They’re staying at the Harvest House, aren’t they?”

“Listen, Michelle . . . either you are going to tell him he has to be out by morning or I am.”

“He was your friend first, Mother. He came here to see you . . . remember?”

“But I didn’t invite him to stay with us.”

“I don’t understand why you’re behaving in this intensely hostile way, unless it’s because we used the hot tub without your permission. Is that it?”

“That’s part of it,” Margo said. “And you know how I feel about motorcycles.”

“You’re getting to be a neurotic worrier, just like Grandma Sampson.”

“That’s bullshit, Michelle. And you know it.”

That night, when Margo could not fall asleep, she wandered through the house again, but this time, as she passed Michelle’s room, she heard muffled sounds and knew that Eric was in there. She felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She did not know what to do. If she opened Michelle’s bedroom door and demanded that Eric leave at once, Michelle would never forgive her. Besides, she had always vowed that she would respect her children’s privacy.

“Margo.” She spun around. Andrew was standing behind her. “Come back to bed,” he whispered, taking her hand.

“He’s in there with her.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“From the way they’ve been looking at each other it was inevitable.”

Margo followed Andrew back to their bedroom and climbed into bed beside him. “I can’t stand the idea of it,” she told him. “A girl’s first lover shouldn’t be someone who has slept with her mother. Michelle is such an innocent. I wanted her first sexual encounter to grow out of love.”

“Desire is the next best thing,” Andrew said, holding her.

“No . . . it’s not the same at all. I know him, Andrew. He’s just a fucking machine. He doesn’t care about her.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it now. Try to get some sleep. Talk to Michelle tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is too late. You wouldn’t be taking it so calmly if it were Sara.”

“Maybe not,” Andrew said. “Why did you give him your address in the first place?”

“You know how those things are. You have a nice time, you think you might want to get together again . . .”

“Was he that good?” Andrew asked.

“He’s a kid.”

“You just said he’s a fucking machine.”

“He was all right. It was pure sex, Andrew, nothing more.”

“I keep picturing the two of you together. I keep thinking that if you hadn’t met me, if I hadn’t been here when he came to visit . . .”

“That’s a whole different story. Besides, I wouldn’t have been interested. You’re not jealous, are you?”

“About as jealous as you were the night we came home from Early Sumner’s.”

“That jealous?”

“I think so.”

On the night of Early Sumner’s dinner party Margo had been blinded by sexual jealousy. She had been furious—at herself, for feeling vulnerable and insecure, at Early Sumner and other women like her, for not knowing how to relate to men except in a flirtatious way, and most of all, at Andrew, for allowing it to happen.

Oh, she hated women like Early Sumner. But she also recognized her former self in them, her married-to-Freddy self, when going to a party meant an evening of flirtations that would go nowhere but which would bring immense pleasure for a few hours—eye contact across the dinner table, a brushing of arms, of thighs, tingles followed by fantasies. She’d put out vibes in those days.
Here I am . . . come and get me . . . if you can.
She no longer put out those vibes, but other women did. And she could not stop them from coming on to Andrew.

It’s your life,
the voice inside her head had said that night.
You’re in charge. If this is how he’s going to behave and it makes you unhappy, then get rid of him.

I don’t want to get rid of him.

Then what do you want?

I want him to want me as much as I want him.

Oh ho! That old song.

Is that so unreasonable?

Depends who you ask.

So what should I do?

Tell him how you feel. See how he reacts. Maybe he’ll understand. Maybe next time he’ll be more aware of your feelings.

You know something . . . for once you’re making sense.

Margo . . . I always make sense.

T
HE NEXT DAY,
at noon, Margo drove out to the building site in Sunshine Canyon. She wandered through the new house until she found Eric. “I want to talk to you,” she said.

“Sure, Margo.”

“Not here. In my car.”

“Be back in a few minutes,” Eric told another worker, who raised his eyebrows in response. Margo knew what he was thinking, but she didn’t care.

“What are you doing, Eric?” she asked, opening the car door.

“Mainly laying the floors and the patios.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean, what are you doing with Michelle?”

“That’s not something I’m going to talk about with you, Margo.”

“She’s too young for you. Too inexperienced.”

“She’s seventeen, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m twenty-one. That sounds just right to me.”

“Damn it, Eric! I won’t have you pulling any Mother-Daughter number on us.”

“What’s with you, Margo? Are you jealous? Is that it?”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah, that’s how it looks to me. Oh, sure, you’ve got yourself some guy, but he must be what . . . forty, forty-five? It’s not the same, is it?”

Margo thought about smashing him in the mouth, kicking him in the balls, telling him what an immature asshole he was. But she held back her rage and said, instead, “You’re so far off the wall I won’t even attempt to respond.”

“You’re afraid I’m going to tell her . . . that’s it, isn’t it?”

“It would be destructive to tell her.”

“Hey, look . . . I don’t brag about my sexual experiences. I don’t have to.”

“So why, when you could have any woman in town, does it have to be Michelle?”

“I like her. She reminds me of you.”

T
HAT NIGHT, AFTER DINNER,
while Andrew and Stuart cleaned up the kitchen, Margo went to Michelle’s room. “Honey . . . I’d like to talk to you.”

“I don’t have much time, Mother. Eric’s coming by at eight. He found a room on Arapahoe. He wants me to see it.”

“Don’t you have schoolwork?”

“I already did it.”

“You can’t ride on the Honda at night.”

“I know. We’re borrowing the truck. Andrew said it was all right.”

“Michelle, listen . . . there are some men who go through life taking whatever they want, without ever giving in return.”

“There are women like that too.”

“Maybe. But some men, like Eric, think that nothing else matters . . . that no woman can resist them and all because of their good looks . . .”

“Good is putting it mildly, Mother . . .”

“I never thought you would be so sexist, Michelle.”

“Me? You’re the one who’s being sexist. You’re the one putting him down just because he’s so good-looking, without even giving him a chance, without even bothering to find out what’s underneath.”

“I know what’s underneath.”

“How . . . how do you know?”

“I sense it.” She wasn’t making herself clear. She wished she could come right out and say,
He slept with me, Michelle. We were lovers for a week. I know what I’m talking about.
But in this case honesty was out of the question. “Don’t sleep with him, Michelle . . . please.”

“My sex life is my own business.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Are you jealous, Mother? Is that it?”

“Jealous of what?”

“Us. Our youth. Eric says that women of your age sometimes resent their daughters’ youth.”

“I don’t resent your youth, Michelle. I’ve had my own.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, Mother.” Michelle pulled a blue t-shirt out of her dresser drawer. “I’ve really got to get changed now. Don’t worry about me . . . okay?”

“I’m trying not to.”

“Remember when I was little and you used to read me that Maurice Sendak book,
Higglety Pigglety Pop
!”

“Yes . . .”

“Remember Jennie, the dog who was trying to get experience  . . .”

“What about her?”

“Well, that’s me, Mother.”

“
M
ICHELLE’S AFTER EXPERIENCE,”
Margo told Andrew later that night. They were in bed, reading.

Andrew ran his hand up her leg. “How about you and me having a little experience tonight?”

“You’re not listening. You think it’s all a big joke, don’t you?”

“Mmm . . .” Andrew had his hand between her legs now.

“And speaking of jokes,” Margo said, “our Polaroid pictures are missing. I only hope Eric didn’t find them. He used our shower last Sunday.”

“More likely Mrs. Herrera found them.”

“If Mrs. Herrera found them she’d quit. She doesn’t approve of me living with a man who’s not my husband . . . a man who used to be married to Mrs. B.B. She thinks I’m a sinner. Those pictures will prove it.”

“Come here, sinner.”

“You have a one-track mind.”

“It’s not my mind,” he said, “it’s this.”

“Oh,” Margo said, “I see.” And in a minute she forgot about the pictures.

40

A
NDREW’S PARENTS CAME TO TOWN
on the day that Clare left for Miami to visit B.B. Andrew and Sara had met the Broders at the airport, had spent a few hours alone with them, then had dropped them at the Harvest House. Now Andrew was on his way back to their hotel to pick them up and bring them to the house.

Margo sat in the living room, waiting. She had dressed in southwestern style—a denim skirt, her concha belt, a brightly colored vest, boots, and silver bracelets. She waited nervously, fussing over a tray of cheeses from Essential Ingredients and a bowl of chopped liver from the New York Deli. She had picked up a tulip plant at Sturz and Copeland, which she moved from the coffee table to the dining table then back again. She wanted the Broders to like her, to appreciate her, to see that she was just right for Andrew. Freddy’s parents had accepted her, but they had never thought she was good enough for their son. No woman would have been good enough for their son, which is why their son treated women like shit.