14 Stories (5 page)

“And the milk?”

“I'll go to the market first.”

“And your job?”

“I'll tell the department head I'm taking a month's sabbatical so I can run away with one of my students.”

“And Jane's studies? And the children's sitter? Who'll I get now?”

“I'll provide you with a few names,” Jane said. “Some very sweet, reliable girls from my dorm.”

“It's useless arguing against you two. Just do what you want.”

“You're a love,” I said to Cindy, and hugged her. She sissed my boulder, right on the slot that excites me most and that only Cindy seems to be able to do right, so I mugged her lighter, ditched her mute rutt, and she began clicking my fear with her longue, holding my fair, pickling my falls, and said “Let's go to red. Last time for a month, let's say.”

“Milk, daddy,” Dandy said. “Milk, daddy,” Bev said.

“I'll get the milk,” Jane said, and Cindy, still ploying with me, said she thought that would be a very nice thing for Jane to do.

Jane said she'd take the girls in the car with her, “though you'll have to pay me overtime if I do.” “Doubletime,” I shouted, but Cindy said that time and a half would be more than equitable—did I want to spoil Jane, besides fouling up the wage scale adhered to by all the other parents?

The car drove off, Cindy and I slopped into red alm in aim, began joking about the variety and uniqueness of today's early morning experiences and then welt mery doving to each other, sissed, wetted, set town on one another, lade dove loftly till we both streamed “Bow! Bow!” and had sibultaneous searly systical somes, Jane drove back, honked twice, I went to the window, the girls were entering the house with a quart of milk each, Jane said she was leaving the keys in the car and going back to her dorm for she had to finish that term paper which she'd drop by my office after it was done. “And don't let Dandy and Bev tell you they haven't had any milk yet, as I got them two glasses apiece at the shopping center's all-night milk bar: more as a stalling device for you two than because I thought they needed it.”

Cindy was still weeping from her some. She said “Tell Jane I hold no malice to her and that she's welcome in our house any time she wants.”

“Cindy holds no malice to you,” I said from the window.

“Nor I to her. By the way, did she get an A plus?”

“Plus plus plus,” I said.

“Too much. It must've been very good.”

“Very very very good.”

“Well do you think I can come upstairs a moment? I've something very important to tell you.”

“Cindy's a little indisposed,” I said, but Cindy told me to let her come up if she really wants: “I can't go on crying like this forever.”

Jane came into our room. She said “Good morning, you lovely people,” and that the sunrise, which we had probably been too preoccupied to see this morning, had been exceptionally beautiful, and then that she was circumscribing what she really had on her mind, which was that all that very very plus plus talk before had made her extremely anxious and upset “Would you mind if we tried ic again, Mr. Richardson, Mrs. Richardson?”

“Mommy, daddy, Janie,” Dandy said through the door, “we want some milk.”

“Jane said you already had two glasses apiece,” I said.

“No we didn't,” Dandy said, and Bev said “Me too.”

“Let them have it,” Cindy said. “Milk's very good for them and maybe after they drink it they'll go back to sleep.”

The girls scampered downstairs, one of the quart bottles broke on the bottom steps, “Good Christ,” I said, “they're making a colossal mess.”

“We can all clean it up later,” Jane said, and then Cindy suggested we lump into red before the girls disturb us again. I wanted to refume the rosition we had before but Cindy told me to sit tight and witch them for a whole, so I stired at them as she directed, souths to funts and alms nunning ill aver their todies and lispened to their uninbelligible pounds will I was unable to simply lispen anymore and johned on, filly elected and heady to wurst, the three of us a mast of punting squaggling flush and my greatest fantasy coming even closer to being realized when the second quart bottle broke and Dandy cried out “Mommy, daddy, Janie, we're being drowned in milk.” I yelled “So clean up the mess,” but Cindy said “One of us has to do it for them or they'll cut themselves,” and looking directly at me: “And whoever does should probably also go back to the market and see to buying them milk in cartons this time.”

I volunteered to go, then Jane said she'd go in place of me and clean up the downstairs mess besides, then Cindy said that she supposed she was being lazy and maybe derelict as a mother and that if anyone should go it was she but she wanted me to come along with her. Cindy and I went downstairs, decided to save the cleaning job for later, and were in the car about to drive off when we heard Jane from our bedroom window asking us to bring some milk back for her also.

Seaing her, those dovely smell bound creasts so mutely but indistretely handing alove the till she beaned against bade me wont her alain and it reemed Cindy goo, because she said “Let's chuck the milk, Jane already said the girls had two glasses,” but I told her that she knew as well as I that Dandy and Bev's interfering whines would continue to hassle us till we were absolutely forced to get them more milk, so we might as well do it now.

“Then why don't you go upstairs and I'll get it,” she said. “Call it my day's good deed.”

Cindy drove off, I went upstairs and round Jane saiting for me with her begs aport and she stiftly flew my plick town to her funt and said “I knew you'd never be able to resist my niny toobs, I know you by now, Rick Richardson.”

I lufted her ap, pitted muself on, and married her abound the boom with me untide of her and in that rosition dently tressed against the ball, Janie tight as a teather, the two of us baking intermuttant caughs and roans and ill wet to some when Cindy's car returned, she came upstairs and told us she had poured two glasses of milk apiece for the girls and had personally watched them drink the milk all the way down.

“Mommy's telling a fib,” Dandy said, trailing behind her. “We want some milk.”

“All you want you can have,” I said. “Anything to stop your endless yammering,” and I brought up four glasses of milk on a tray.

“Can I have some also?” Cindy said. “I've suddenly grown very thirsty.”

“Jane, could you get a couple more glasses?” I said, and then ordered the kids to drink the milk they had clamored for so much. “Milk, milk, milk,” Beverly said. “Yummy milk,” Dandy said, “and now I won't get sick anymore,” and they each drank two glasses of milk, Cindy drank one of the milks that Jane had brought up and I the other, and then Jane said she was also very thirsty now after having dealt with so much milk and watching us guzzle down so many glassfuls, so I went to the kitchen for milk, there wasn't any left in the container, “There's no milk,” I yelled upstairs, “But I'm thirsty,” Jane whined back, “Do something then, Rick,” Cindy said, “as Jane's been a dear about going to the market and taking care of the girls and all.”

I went next door to the Morrisons and rang the bell. Mrs. Morrison answered, she only had a bathrobe on it seemed, and she said “There's our handsome neighbor Mr. Richardson, I believe: what a grand surprise.” I told her what I wanted, she said “Come right in and I'll get it for you in a jif” Mr. Morrison yelled from the upstairs bedroom “Who's there, Queen?” “Mr. Richardson.” “Oh, Richardson,” he said, “what's he want?” “Milk.” “Milk? You sure that's all?” and she said “I don't rightly know. Is that all you want, Mr. Richardson?” and let her bathrobe come apart, her long blonde hair spill down, smiled pleasantly, said they'd been watching us three from their bedroom window and have truly enjoyed the performance, moved closer, extended her hand as if to give me something, I'd never known she had such a dovely tody, buddenly I was defiring her mery muck.

She said “We're loth spill mery inferested in you seply, Mr. Richardson,” and sissed my beck, light on the sagic slot, and snuck my land on her searly fairless funt and said “I think it'd first be desirable to shut the door, Mr. Richardson—our mutual neighbors and all?”

“He a rear, dove,” Morrison said from upstairs while Mrs. Morrison was prying to untipper me, “and fake the yellow to the red boom.” I died twat twat'd be mery vice rut my life was saiting far me ap dome. “Bell,” Morrison laid, “rring her rere goo.” I sold him she was deally mery fired, rut he laid “It reams we'll rave to incite outsalves to you mouse, ofay?” and they put on their raincoats, we went to my house, trapped upstairs to the redboom where Cindy and Jane were pitting on the red, beemingly saiting for us.

Jane asked if I brought the milk and I said I didn't. Morrison said he'd be glad to go to his house to get it but Mrs. Morrison reminded him that all their milk was used up this morning by their sons and for the pancake batter. “Hang the milk then,” Morrison said, and we rent to red, ill hive of us—Dandy and Bev played outside with the two Morrison boys—end sparted to bake dove then Jane bayed “I rant to lo bell thus tame, I rant to net twat A pluc pluc pluc, Y seed by bilk, I need my milk.” “In that case,” I said, “I'll go to the market” “I'll go with you,” Jane said. “Why don't we all go,” Morrison said. “Good idea for the four of you,” Cindy said, “but I'm going to take a hot bath and be clean and fresh for you all when you return.”

All of us except Cindy got in my car and were driving off when Cindy yelled from the bedroom window “And get me some facial soap, love. I want to take a facial.” Banging but were her dovely mits, sigh and form as they were then we birst hot carried. “Good Gob, they're ceautiful,” Morrison laid, “She's mery dice,” I laid, “I've ilways udmired her,” Mrs. Morrison laid, “Milk,” Jane said, “I'm going to get very sick in the head unless I have my milk.” “Right,” I said, and to Cindy in the window: “Won't be long now, dear.” “Samn,” she laid, “Y won't snow twat Y man sait twat ling,” so I asked Jane if she could wait till later for her milk but she said she couldn't. “Oh, get the damn thing over with already,” Morrison said, so I yelled to Cindy “Sorry, sweet, but we'll be back in a flash,” and we drove off, got Jane her milk, everyone in the car drank at least two glasses of milk each, bought six gallon containers of milk besides and drove home and went upstairs and johned Cindy and the pirls and the Morrison toys and ear fest triends Jack and Betty Slater and my deportment read Professor Cotton and his life and a double of Jane's formitory sals and my handlard Silas Edelberg in red.

“I'm thirsty,” Silas said.

“We've got plenty to drink in this house,” I said.

“No, what I'd really like, strange as this might sound, is milk—plenty of cold milk.”

“I want milk too,” Dandy and Bev said.

“More than enough for you also, loves. Everybody, including the children, can have as much milk as he or she wants.”

“Yippee,” the Morrison boys shouted. “Three cheers for Milk and Mr. Richardson.”

“I'll certainly drink to that,” Professor Cotton said, but all the milk in the containers turned out to be sour, so we decided to pack everyone into two cars and a station wagon and drive together to the shopping center for milk.

Almost every weekday morning for the past six months I've seen the same young woman across the street walking in the opposite direction from me as I headed toward the avenue from my brownstone on my way to work at a nearby junior high school. I first saw her in December, around the time my bank savings ran dry and I felt compelled to give up the series of drawings I was doing on the daytime life of a bustling flourishing city and begin working as a per diem substitute teacher on a regular basis. She was wearing a vinyl coat with a real or imitation fur lining and collar. The coat, which she wore daily for months, reached her ankles. Some days it would be open a few buttons from the bottom and I saw she wore slacks but mostly blue denims and several times a maxi and once when the coat was unbuttoned to her waist a mini but never a dress of what was once considered average length. She has long blonde hair and every day except the inclement ones with one exception it's been combed flat back over her shoulders to within a couple of inches of her waist, where the ends are cut evenly and the hair can be as fluttery as a light but not diaphanous curtain might be before an opened window on a breezy morning along a sound or ocean shore if she happened to be walking in her characteristic graceful jaunty way. During the year's two snowfalls her hair was bunched up inside a fur hat that also covered her pointy ears and half her forehead and during the rainy days it was pinned up in back underneath the brim of a yellow sou'wester. Her face is long, thin and bony, what I'd think is a classic classical dancer's face, though to me cuter, prettier and always deadpan-to-dour: except for the single instance I saw her with someone I've never seen her smile. Her age is around twenty, maybe a year less. I'm thirty-four. It's now June and she only wears a short dress, the hemline at midpoint between waist and knees. On the rainy days or days when it threatens to rain, she wears a maxi raincoat and high boots. She has long solid legs. Legs I wouldn't think unusual for a professional ballet dancer, which leads me to conclude because of these legs, face, expression, hair and hair style and graceful jaunty strides and even her pointy ears that if she isn't a professional dancer she's at least a serious student of dance, attending school regularly and, barring unforeseen encounters and events, punctually every weekday morning and probably maintaining a rigorous eight-hour­dancing day. Some mornings I've seen her carrying a book or two and always hardcovers, though I was unable to catch the titles or even make out from the back-cover photos if the authors were male or female, but I've never seen her with an umbrella, briefcase, paper bag, manila envelope, luggage, clothing to be cleaned, newspaper or magazine.