The Housewife Blues (24 page)

A purpose, she thought with bitter irony, remembering her
discussion with Terry the day before.

"Then where is my error?" she asked. "In not
telling you or in getting involved in the first place?"

"A little of both," he said.

"Should I have let him die there in the street?"

"Sometimes that's an option."

She looked up and studied his face, searching his eyes for
some hint of what he was thinking. But what she found there was a sense of
insult to his maleness, as if his inbred sense of domination were under attack.
Worse, he didn't appear to have any insight whatsoever into her state or mind,
nor did he care. What he had done, she decided, was to force her into a kind of
shadowland of deception, a place where she had to rearrange her own values and
perceptions to accommodate his own view of the world. In some ways she
acknowledged he had tried to make her into another person. Perhaps he had
succeeded, she mused. Nearly. The concept troubled her.

Suddenly he grabbed the paper out of her hands and, folding
it, threw it across the room. So he wasn't finished with it. She sucked in a
deep breath, bracing herself.

"He was a fucking United States senator, Jenny. You
were saving the life of a United States senator."

"I told you—"

"Don't you see, dammit! Brownie points. You saved his
life. Quid pro quo. It's worth something. If you'd called me, I would have told
you how to play it. These things don't come around that often. I'm going into a
new business. You botched a media event, an opportunity for name
identification. The least you could have done is told the police that you were
Mrs. Larry Burns."

"Something wrong with Jenny? I did use Burns."

"You're missing the point."

"According to you, I'm always missing that."

"Yes, you are. This was an opportunity. You should
have at least consulted me."

"I told you. I didn't know he was a senator," she
said, shaking her head in resignation, spacing the words in an effort to
generate a sense of the sarcastic.

"And I would have told you to find out who this person
was whose life you saved. That's the point. I know how to handle these things.
You don't."

"I've heard that before," Jenny muttered, wishing
it were over.

"Frankly, Jenny, I don't think you understand any of
this." He snapped his fingers. "Not a whit."

"I agree, then. I should have told you," she
said, hoping the hollow, and untruthful, concession might cut off further
argument. His reaction, she had decided, was beyond her own perception of
logic.

"Well, well," he said, smiling sardonically.
"Do I detect contrition?"

"No," she said firmly. "No contrition."
She felt a new kind of sensation emerging inside of her. Courage, perhaps.
"The fact was I didn't need to consult you. Besides, I don't exactly get a
full report of your daily activities."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked smugly,
folding his arms across his chest in an unmistakable gesture of belligerence.

"We've been through that," she replied, not
wishing to let anger cloud her judgment. Above all, she did not want to be
goaded into telling him about her meeting with Terry and the rejection of his
loan request. That bit of intelligence was on hold for Monday at the earliest.
There was still the weekend to get through.

"It's all a matter of judgment," he said, calming
somewhat, sighing as if confronted with a perpetually disobedient adolescent.

"With mine leaving much to be desired, I
suppose."

"Let's put it this way," he said. "You've
got a lot to learn. And I hope you don't screw up my new business life."

"How could I? I'm not part of it."

"You're right about that."

It seemed a parting word as he left the room, giving her a
chance to privately assess the morning's events. Senator Springer. Admittedly
it had amazed her, but she did feel that she had been true to her promise to
Myrna to keep the secret from Larry. His suspicions were indeed well founded,
but it troubled her to speculate what he might have done with that information.

After a while he came back into the bedroom. She had
remained in bed, contemplating her own agenda. She admitted to disorientation
and uncertainty about the direction her life was taking. Also, there could be
no doubt that her value system had been seriously challenged.

"I'll be out most of the day," he said, his
features hard and unsmiling.

"It's Saturday," she replied.

"Tomorrow, too."

"Oh."

"If you must know, we're moving into our new offices.
Next week we're going to make the break and the announcement."

"Isn't that a big risk?" she asked, her heart
pounding.

"Well, well," he said, turning as if to address
some invisible person. "Now she's become a business adviser."

"And the loan?" she muttered, barely able to get
the words out.

"I wouldn't trouble my pretty little head about that
one, Jenny. It's in the bag."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Again she was tempted to confront him with the truth, but
she couldn't bring herself to be the messenger of misfortune and a continuing
target of his rebuke.

After he left the apartment, she got up and made herself
some coffee. She was not displeased that he would be gone most of the weekend.
She needed to be alone. The telephone rang, but she did not answer it. When the
ringing stopped she took the receiver off the hook.

A few moments later the door buzzer sounded. It was Myrna.
She was dressed in a suit, her makeup was in place, and she had the air of
someone in a hurry. She rejected Jenny's offer of coffee.

"I saw him take off," she said.

"He saw the
Times."

Myrna nodded and shrugged. "I can't stay. I'm out of
here." Beneath the makeup her face looked ravaged. "Just in case this
damage control blows up in their faces."

"Seems to be working fine," Jenny said.

"So far so good. But you never know. They start to
really dig, he can be in deep shit." Myrna ran her fingers through her
hair. "Anyway, just in case, I think it's better that I split for a
while." She looked at Jenny. "No media types snooping around?"

Jenny pointed to the phone. The receiver was off the hook.

"Nobody show up on your doorstep?"

"No."

"If they do, just stay cool. Never mind. You will. I'm
sure of it. Me, if it came to that, I couldn't face it. I'd look guilty.
Everything shows." She studied Jenny for a moment. "You, on the other
hand, could get away with murder. Scrubbed midwestern look, wide-eyed,
innocent. Little-girl's voice. Small. A natural."

"A naive little housewife, right?"

"I used to think so. I'm not so sure anymore. But I
sure as hell am glad that you were there when needed. You are something, Jenny.
All in all, a tough lady."

"Funny, I never see myself that way."

"Part of your charm. Part of your charm."

"You'll be happy to know that Larry ... my husband ...
has no idea—"

Myrna put out a hand, palm upward. "Stop there. I have
no doubt about that, either."

It seemed a new tack on Myrna's part, but Jenny didn't
challenge it.

"Also I know you won't ask me where I'm going. But
I'll tell you anyhow. I've got an aunt in London with wide shoulders who has
nursed me through these withdrawal blues before. Whole procedure usually takes
ten days. Got it down to a science. Fact is, after mucho tears and
hand-wringing, I've concluded he ain't ever gonna deliver the goods. His pussy
is politics. That's his lech. I'm an interlude, no matter what he says. I hope
he pulls through. Watch them all rally round, even the bitchy wife. I'd rather
face the facts now than later. Besides, I feel morally cleansed by the action
we took last night. Saved his political ass, we did. Anyway, Jenny, you're the
beneficiary."

"Me?"

Myrna had spoken at breakneck speed, obviously hyper,
barely taking a breath, and then she had stopped abruptly. "You."

At that point she moved to the apartment door, opened it,
then brought in a box that lay leaning against the corridor wall.

"Ta-da," Myrna trilled, offering the box balanced
on outstretched arms.

"That again," Jenny exclaimed.

"The very same. I want all tangible memories erased.
Do with it what you will. Alter it and wear it. Sell it. Burn it. Give it to
the homeless. Any of the above will do."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I couldn't do it without dumping this." Myrna
sighed. "Call it taking a stand. Being true to oneself. Whatever corn you
concoct, it's yours. My gift to you, to whom it carries no personal
connotations. Me? I can't stand having it around."

People crack, Jenny noted to herself. And Myrna had the
kind of wild look in her eye that seemed to confirm the diagnosis. No point in
arguing, Jenny decided. She'd keep it for Myrna until she got back.

"It's a fine gesture, Myrna," Jenny said, leaving
it at that.

"Already I feel like a new woman."

Outside, they could hear the sound of a horn.

"Three beeps. That's for me. My chariot awaits."
She embraced Jenny and kissed her on both cheeks. "Worth a double-cheeker,
at least. You've been a brick, Jenny dear. I'm gonna wash that man right outa
my hair."

Jenny felt Myrna's body shake with tears, then Myrna moved
out of the apartment, picked up her suitcase, and walked briskly down the
stairs to the street. Not looking back, she got into the cab, which pulled away
from the curb with tires squealing appropriately for effect.

No sooner had Myrna left than Jerry came in the outside
entrance. He looked forlorn.

"Still missing?" Jenny asked.

"'Fraid so," Jerry replied. "I waited for
your husband the cat lover to leave. I need your help."

"You do?"

"Teddy told me about your saucer-on-the-windowsill
ploy. It worked once. It might again."

In the bustle of events, Jenny had forgotten. "How
long this time?" she asked.

"The longest, Mrs. Burns. Two full days and nights.
Bob and I are fit to be tied. It's awful, as any cat lover could understand.
The house is desolate and we're devastated. I know you can commiserate."

"Why do you put yourself through so much agony?"
Jenny asked. "Peter is obviously incorrigible."

"With no regard for our feelings," Jerry said.
"But then even the human species stick together while giving each other
pain."

There was something deeply personal in the remark, and
Jenny, of course, let it pass. But Jerry was not finished, obviously having
plumbed the depths of the thought.

"As the song says, we've grown accustomed to his
smile. We've been together through thick and thin. It's the ingratitude that
flails the soul. The usual response of noncat people is that 'he's only a cat.'
But he's not, really. More like a kind of person, a bit on the flouncy side and
certainly inconsiderate, but lovely when he wants to be. Oh, God, I hope he
comes home."

There were tears in his eyes, and Jenny felt touched by his
attachment. "I'll put the saucer out immediately," she said.

"You're such a dear, I don't know how you..."

He stopped in midsentence, and she completed it in her
mind: "live with such an unfeeling boor." She had begun to wonder
about that herself, but so far she felt she was still journeying with halting
tread over the Rubicon.

"I hope it works again," Jenny said.

"I thank you, Mrs. Burns. You are wonderful."

She went back into the apartment, closed the door, then
went through the process of putting the saucer on the ledge of the open window.
By then the coffee she had poured into her cup was cold, and she threw it out
and poured another one.

At that moment the buzzer to her inside door rang again.
The activity astonished her, and she smiled to herself, once again remembering
Larry's warnings.

It was Mr. Stern, looking remarkably fit, a far cry from
the state he'd been in just a few short weeks ago.

"May I come in?" he said, offering a beaming
smile.

"Coffee?"

"Love it," he said, stepping into the apartment,
eyes surveying the surroundings, looking pleased. "What a wonderful
place."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Stern," she said with a
glance over her shoulder as she came into the kitchen. She poured him a mug of
coffee and sat down on the high chair near the kitchen island. He sat down
beside her.

"I saw Mr. Burns from my window," he began, then
blushed. "Sounds awful, I'm sorry."

So Larry had become the building pariah, she thought,
smiling. And well deserved.

"Whatever is between us does not concern him,"
she said, unable to mask her militancy.

"I was hoping that," Mr. Stern said.
"Spouses do have their little secrets from each other. Like that bit of
business a few weeks ago."

"Long forgotten, Mr. Stern," Jenny said, sipping
her coffee. He sipped his and watched her.

"I appreciate that, Mrs. Burns."

She paused for a moment and grinned. "I was just about
to say, 'Call me Jenny,' then I thought, You know, this formality between
neighbors is nice and wonderfully old-fashioned. I'd like your opinion on that,
Mr. Stern."

"I like it, too," he said. "I feel very easy
about it, even though you share the most important secret of my life. Yes, I
like that." He put down his cup and cleared his throat. "Now about
that money you lent me."

She was tempted to tell him about the troubles generated by
that money, but she held off.

"I hadn't expected things to happen so fast, Mr.
Stern."

"Well, they did," he said. "You know, Mrs.
Burns, real estate people are true gamblers. I had planned to use part of the
money for paying my back rent. I really did. But then I said, What do I do
then? Then this building came on the block. Well, not exactly. I simply made
the owner an offer he couldn't resist. Everybody who owns property in New York wants to sell. I used it as a good faith deposit on the purchase of this very
building. A real flier, but the opportunity was there and I took the
chance."