The Husband (19 page)

“Yes,” said Rose, her voice cracking in desperation.

“Okay, representative,” said Peter, giving Jack full face, “listen carefully. I haven’t seen my kids in three weeks.”

“That’s your fault,” said Jack. “Nobody told you to leave.”

A wildness raged through Peter’s head. “Rose, where are they?”

Rose remained silent.

“That’s none of your business,” said Jack.

“They’re my kids!”

“I haven’t kidnapped them,” said Rose.

“I want to see Jonathan and Margaret. Now. They’re my kids.”

“You abandoned them,” said Jack. “That’s the law.”

“I aban—you’re out of your mind. You know where I’m staying. I’ve sent a check each week.”

“The first two,” said Jack. “Rose didn’t get a check this week. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

“There’s money in the joint account, Rose. I told you that.”

“How about the check for this week?”

“Look,” said Peter, “I have to straighten out some embarrassing things at the bank. It’ll take a little time. I had to put down a month’s security, plus the first month’s rent for a small apartment.”

“The kids have to eat,” said Jack.

“Now cut that, if you want me to take you seriously. There’s stuff in the freezer to feed an army for a month.”

“You didn’t send a check this week.”

“I sent enough dough each of the first two weeks to keep a baseball team in steak.”

“Out of guilt!” said Rose.

“Maybe,” said Peter. “More than I could afford, anyway.”

“We want a check for three hundred thirty dollars every Monday.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to get it? I can’t argue the amount, but don’t kid yourselves, I think it’s outrageous. But even if it were thirty-three bucks, I don’t know where I’d get it right now, and there’s no emergency.”

“Get a salary advance from your firm.”

“I wouldn’t dare ask. It’s hard enough at the office for Elizabeth and for me, too, after all the rotten stories Rose told Paul!”

“I told?”

“He said you did. You were excited. I’d hate to tell you what else he said.”

“Sell some stock,” said Jack.

“Come on now, Jack, you know my stock position.”

“I always said you were a jerk as an investor.”

“That’s not an indictable offense. I told Rose about the margin calls. Now listen, when do I get to see the kids?”

“When we’ve settled the money business, buster. When you’re paid up to date.”

“You’re holding them as hostages?”

“Three hundred thirty dollars every Monday.”

“I’m not a counterfeiter.”

“Borrow.”

“I have, you son of a— What the hell do you think I’ve been living on?”

“Borrow more.”

“I’m trying. Oh listen, you two, I had the first really lovely experience of my life asking a good friend, somebody I’ve known for years, like you, Jack, for five hundred bucks, and he said no and gave me a business reason, so I asked for two hundred dollars and he said no. I asked for one hundred dollars and he said, go back to my wife!”

“Some people don’t like what you’ve done.”

“You know damn well why what I did makes them feel uncomfortable.”

“Don’t skip the subject,” said Jack. “Three hundred thirty dollars every Monday.”

Peter’s bobsled words came rushing. “Twice I went to see old buddies in other agencies to see if I could get more money by switching jobs, and they wanted to know if the rumors about what they called ‘my personal life’ were true, and didn’t I think I ought to get my emotional problems squared away before taking on new responsibilities. Crap! I tried to get a bag of chocolate-chip cookies at Gristede’s on my way here just now, and the son of a bitch—I’ve had a charge account since we moved into the neighborhood—he asked me for cash and held onto the goddamn paper bag. What are you doing, Rose, telling everyone?”

“If you quiet down,” said Jack, “I’ll tell you a few things.”

“Like what!”

“The property settlement,” said Jack.

“I’m getting out of here,” said Peter.

“You’d better listen,” said Jack, squaring himself in front of Peter, knowing this was the time to drive it home. “Rose has possession of the car. She needs it for taking the kids to school and shopping.”

“So?” Peter tried to step around Jack.

“We want you to turn over the car to her by endorsing this registration certificate.”

Peter looked at the certificate and then up at them in bewilderment. “Is this another condition for my seeing the kids?”

Jack and Rose were soundless. Peter ripped the registration certificate in half.

“That won’t do you any good,” said Jack. “I can always get a duplicate. Now the house.”

Rose felt her hands trembling. “Do we have to do all this now, Jack?”

“Please keep quiet,” Jack told her. “Peter, you both own the house jointly.”

“That’s for tax purposes.”

“Well, we want you to sign a quitclaim deed for your half of the house. You wouldn’t want to rip the house up the middle, would you, Petey?”

“I put all I had left from my first job and from my father into the down payment on this house, and I’ve been paying back the mortgage a long, long time. I’ve got a lot of equity in this house. It’s my way of saving.”

“Rose and the kids have got to live in it,” said Jack with finality.

“Nobody’s saying no.”

“We want it to be hers legally.”

“And how the hell am I supposed to make a new life for myself if I turn everything over to her? You know what the advertising business is like. Maybe Paul will drop me. Maybe I won’t be able to get a new job. Maybe I’ll have to start a small agency of my own. I’ll need some time and some collateral to borrow money. Like a second mortgage on this house.”

“The house is hers, not yours. And so is everything in it.”

“Now look, I was a grown boy when I married Rose, and I brought some of these things into the marriage. Those paintings are mine. I bought them. Rose hates them. They just hang there because we didn’t divide the walls into his and hers.”

Rose spoke. “You can have Miss Kilter’s painting and that’s all.”

“That Buffet’s mine,” said Peter. “I discovered it.”

“Rose says it’s worth a lot of money now,” said Jack.

“Rose hates it.”

“Oh, that’s okay, we’ll sell it.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Then drop dead,” said Jack. “If it has a lot of sentimental value to you, you can buy it from Rose.”

“I can buy it from her?”

“Sure,” said Jack. “We’ll get it appraised. You can buy it at the present market price.”

“With what?”

“That’s your problem. The same goes for the hi-fi set.”

“Rose!” Peter turned on her. His face sagged with disbelief.

“Never mind Rose,” said Jack. “I’ve discussed it with her. Don’t play on her weakness because she’s a woman.”

“I built that set,” bellowed Peter. “Its value is mostly my labor.”

“You should have thought of that before you took off.”

“She doesn’t listen to it,” said Peter.

“That’s not true,” said Rose.

“Now come on, Rose, this is Peter. Who are you kidding?”

“If you keep this up,” said Rose, her voice trembling, “you’re not going to get your chair.”

“That’s my father’s chair.”

“Your father is dead,” said Jack. “Now it’s the common property of this household, which you have abandoned, and household property in this state goes to the wife.”

“Everything?”

“Everything,” said Jack.

“I don’t believe you,” said Peter. “I’ll get a lawyer. Someone who’s as big a louse as you are.”

“Good. I don’t care who you get. He’ll tell you how the courts deal with husbands who abandon their wives and children. He’ll tell you you abandoned yours the day you took your suitcase out that door. I hope you get a really experienced matrimonial type who knows the cases and knows damn well what husbands get in court. Get a big-ass lawyer. He’ll take half your hide in fees. You’ll have to keep the payments to Rose up, pay him, and pay my fees, too.”

“I pay you for putting the screws on me?”

“That’s right.”

“Now I see why some men skip.”

“You just try,” said Jack. “You’ll never see the kids again.”

Peter felt his limbs go slack. He hoped it was only resolve draining away. “I’m not that kind of man,” he said quietly, hoping for control.

“We know what kind of man you are, Peter. Stick to the facts. We want half the net value of the stock when you’ve met the margin requirements, the joint checking account, the cash in the savings account—the war bonds belong to the kids anyway—the house, the car, the furnishings, and three hundred thirty dollars a week paid before ten A.M. each Monday or you don’t see the kids that weekend.”

Peter walked closer to Rose. She couldn’t be frightened of him. Not now.

“Rose, who’s doing this to me? Are you?”

“Now never you mind,” snapped Jack. “Stick to the property settlement.”

“What you want isn’t a settlement. You’re judging me and laying down the punishment.”

“I don’t give a damn what you call it. You want to go screwing around, you’ve got to pay. That’s the law in this country.”

“And if I don’t?” asked Peter quietly.

“I’ll have you in Domestic Relations Court on Monday. Nine out of ten couples who appear before that judge speak Spanish. Not a very middle-class place, except for the photographers and newsmen. Everybody loves a scandal if Madison Avenue is involved. And with a Madison Avenue chick thrown in, it’s worth a lot of space. Would that be enough of a handle for Paul to give you the old heave-ho?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

With a gesture just short of a flourish, Jack removed a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Peter.

“The judge who signed that is a Catholic, and you know how they feel about divorce. You’ll walk out of court with your skin, period. Have fun with the newspapers. Or settle with us.”

The legalese on the paper swam in front of Peter’s eyes. “If there’s a lot of dirt in the papers,” he said, looking up, “I’ll never keep a job in my trade that’ll pay the money you’re asking for.”

“Read that paper,” said Jack.

“I’ve read it,” said Peter, lying.

“Monday, ten A.M., Domestic Relations Court.”

“Now Jack, for old tim’es sake, listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

“Peter?” It was Rose.

Peter looked at her. She seemed the Rose of long ago, the pretty face before it had hardened.

“Come back,” said Rose.

Peter spoke very gently. “You don’t want me, Rose, even if I could.” He turned to Jack. “I need something left. I’ll need to furnish a place, even the minimum.”

“I’m not interested in your problems,” said Jack.

Rose again. “Peter, come back. We’ll work something out.”

“We can’t, Rose.”

“We’ve fought before,” she said.

“This isn’t a fight, Rose. I’m going to get married again.”

“You can’t,” said Jack.

“I’m a free man,” said Peter.

Jack laughed. “You can’t get a divorce unless Rose agrees.”

“I’ll go to Mexico.”

“The absent party has got to agree. Even in Mexico.”

Peter turned to Rose. “What good does it do to keep me from getting a divorce?”

“Nobody’s keeping you,” said Jack.

“I’m talking to Rose,” said Peter.

“You’re talking to her lawyer right now. Nobody’s keeping you from getting a divorce. All you have to do is settle the property our way.”

“Or else?”

“No tickee, no washee.”

Peter felt his forearms linked to his arms, linked to his shoulders once again; bones in operation. “Both of you listen. I’m going to marry Miss Kilter, and nothing’s going to stop me.”

“Goddamnit,” said Jack, “I’m not interested in hearing about your next marriage until you pay the price of this one. You’re going to get squared away with Rose before that Miss Kilter’s lawyer gets after you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I know your kind. You never stop. What’ll you do after you marry Miss Kilter? Whose pants will you want to get into when you’re married to her? Who’ll be next?”

“Don’t talk that way to me. You got rid of Amanda the easy way!”

After a moment of staring at Jack’s crimson face, Peter said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He turned to Rose. “When do I see the children?”

“Hire a lawyer,” said Jack, the high color draining. “I’m through talking to you. Tell your lawyer to call me. He’ll tell you what you have to do to see the kids.”