Wife 22 (17 page)
Authors: Melanie Gideon
When did tampons get so expensive? It’s a good thing I have a coupon. I look at the fine print and squint, then hand it to Zoe. “I can’t read this. How many boxes do we have to buy?”
“Four.”
“There were only two boxes on the shelf,” I say to the clerk when we get to the counter. “But your coupon is for four.”
“Then you need four,” he says.
“But I just told you there were only two.”
“Mom, it’s okay. Just get the two,” whispers Zoe. “There’s a line.”
“It’s two dollars off a box. It’s
not
okay. We’re using the coupon. We are a coupon-using family now.”
To the clerk I say, “Can I get a rain check?”
The clerk snaps his gum and then gets on the loudspeaker. “I need a rain-check coupon,” he says. “Tampax.” He picks up a box of tampons and studies it. “Are there sizes on these things? Where does it say it? Oh—okay. There it is. ‘Tampax, super plus. Four boxes,’ ” he announces to the entire store.
“Two,” I whisper.
Zoe groans with embarrassment. I turn around and see Jude a few people back. It
was
him. He holds up his hand sheepishly and waves.
After the clerk has tallied up our purchase and given me a rain-check coupon, Zoe practically sprints out of the store.
“I bet your mother never did anything like that to
you
,” she hisses, walking five feet in front of me. “Cheap plastic bags. They’re practically see-through. Everybody knows exactly what you’ve bought.”
“Nobody is even looking,” I say as we reach the car, thinking how I would give anything to have had my mother around to humiliate me by buying too many boxes of tampons at the drugstore when I was Zoe’s age.
“Hi, Zo,” says Jude, catching up with us.
Zoe ignores him. Jude’s face falls and I feel sorry for him.
“It’s a bad time, Jude,” I say.
“Unlock the car,” says Zoe.
“I heard about your father’s job,” says Jude. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
I’m going to kill Nedra. I made her swear she wouldn’t tell anybody but Kate about William getting laid off.
“We’re in a hurry, Jude. Zoe and I are going to lunch,” I say, tossing my bag into the backseat.
“Oh—nice,” says Jude. “Kind of a mother-daughter thing.”
“Yup, a mother-daughter thing,” I say, climbing into the car. Even though the daughter wants nothing to do with the mother.
Once I get into my seat, I adjust my rearview mirror and watch Jude walking back to the drugstore. His shoulder blades jut poignantly through his T-shirt. He’s always been bony. He looks like a six-foot-tall boy. Oh, Jude.
“I’m not hungry,” says daughter.
“You’ll be hungry when we get there,” says mother.
“We can’t afford to eat out,” says daughter. “We are a coupon-using family.”
“Yes, let’s just go home and eat crackers,” says mother. “Or bread crumbs.”
Ten minutes later we’re sitting in a booth at the Rockridge Diner.
“Does it bother you? Jude acting like nothing ever happened. Following you around. Can I have a sip of your tea?” I ask.
Zoe hands me her mug. “Don’t blow on it. I hate when you blow on my tea when it’s already cool. You don’t get to have an opinion on me and Jude.”
“Hair gel and tweezers.”
“What?”
“That’s what was in his bag.”
Zoe snorts.
“Grilled ham and cheese and PB and J,” says the waitress, putting down our plates, smiling at Zoe. “Never too old for a good PB and J. You want a glass of milk, too, honey?”
Zoe looks up at the waitress, who looks to be in her mid-sixties. We’ve
been coming to the Rockridge Diner forever, and she always waits on us. She’s seen Zoe at every stage of her life: milk-drugged infant, french-fry-smashing toddler, Lego-building preschooler, Harry Potter–reading fifth grader, dour adolescent, and now thrift-shop-attired teenager.
“That would be really nice, Evie,” says Zoe.
“Sure,” says the waitress, touching her on the shoulder.
“You know her name?” I ask, once Evie has disappeared behind the counter.
“She’s been waiting on us for years.”
“Yes, but she’s never told us her name.”
“You never asked her.” Zoe’s eyes suddenly fill with tears.
“You’re crying, Zoe. Why are you crying? Over Jude? That’s ridiculous.”
“Shut up, Mom.”
“That’s one. You get one shut-up a month and that’s it. You’ve used it up. I can’t believe you’re crying over that boy. In fact, I’m furious you’re crying over him. He hurt you,” I say.
“You know what, Mom,” she snaps. “You think you know everything about me. I know you think you do, but you know what? You don’t.”
My phone chimes. Is it a new message from Researcher 101? I try and mask the hopeful look on my face.
Zoe shakes her head. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say, reaching into my bag and grabbing the phone. I glance at the screen quickly. It’s a Facebook notification alerting me that I’ve been tagged in a photo. Oh, goodie. I’m probably wearing a djellaba.
“Sorry.” I shut my phone off.
“You’re so jumpy,” says Zoe. “It’s like you’re hiding something.” She stares plaintively at my phone.
“Well, I’m not, but why shouldn’t I be? I’m allowed to have a private life. I’m sure you’ve got secrets, too,” I say, looking plaintively at her sandwich. Two bites, maybe three—that’s what I’m betting she’ll eat.
“Yes, but I’m fifteen. I
should
have secrets.”
“Of course you’re allowed to have secrets, Zoe. But not everything has to be a secret. You can still confide in me, you know.”
“
You
shouldn’t have secrets,” says Zoe. “You’re way too old. That’s disgusting.”
I sigh. I’m not going to get anything out of her.
“Here’s your milk,” says Evie, returning to the table.
“Thanks, Evie,” whispers Zoe, her eyes still moist.
“Is everything okay?” Evie asks.
Zoe shoots a dirty look across the table at me.
“Evie, I owe you an apology. I never asked you your name. I should have. It’s a terribly rude thing that I never did and I’m really, really sorry.”
“Are you saying you’d like a glass of milk, too, sweetheart?” she asks me gently.
I look down into my plate. “Yes, please.”
John Yossarian
added Favorite Quotations
Omit needless words.—E. B. White
Just saying hello, Researcher 101.
Hello.
Lunchtime—grilled ham and cheese.
Grilled ham & cheese. Never use “and” when an ampersand will do. 2nd Favorite Quotation:
Omit adverbial dialogue tags.—
Researcher 101
Sunny here, she said sunnily.
Cloudy here.
I’m a bad mother.
No you aren’t.
I’m a tired mother.
Understandable.
I’m a tired wife.
And I’m a tired husband.
You are?
Sometimes, he said, disinhibitingly.
“Omit invented words.”
—
Wife 22
47.
Ages: 19–27: Three plus days a week (the plus being active sex life, actually a bit of a slut). Ages 28–35: Two minus days a week (the minus being pregnancy, infants, no sleep=no libido). Ages 36–40: Seven plus days a week (the plus being desperate, the big 4-0 looming, making an effort to have active sex life so don’t feel like sex life is over). Ages: 41–44: One minus days a month (the minus being when asked by doctor say five days a week, even doctor not fooled, she says five days a week doing what? Chair dancing?).
48.
This is an utterly annoying question—pass!!!
49.
Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal, Abigail and John Adams, Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward.
50.
Ben Harper. Ed Harris (I have a thing for bald men with beautifully shaped heads). Christopher Plummer.
51.
Marion Cotillard (but not in Edith Piaf movie where she shaved her hairline). Halle Berry. Cate Blanchett (
especially
in Queen Elizabeth movie). Helen Mirren.
52.
Frequently.
53.
I put my key in the lock and opened the door. William was working. He held up his hand. “Don’t move,” he said. He picked up his pad of paper and began to read out loud.
EAVEY
P
ATTERSON
B
RAINSTORMING
S
ESSION
C
LIENT
: A
LICE
A
C
REATIVE
: W
ILLIAM
B
T
OPIC
: T
HINGS
A
LICE
S
HOULD
N
EVER
W
ORRY
A
BOUT
1.
If her hair is too long (only too long if down to ankles and impedes ability to walk)
2.
If she forgot to put on lipstick (doesn’t need lipstick—lips a perfectly lovely shade of raspberry)
3.
If you can see through her dress (Yes)
4.
If she should have worn a slip to work today (No)
“You ass! I’ve been walking around all day with my underwear showing? Why didn’t anybody tell me?”
“I just told you.”
“You should have told me earlier. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. It was the highlight of my day. Come here,” William said.
“No,” I said, pouting.
He dramatically swept the table clean of all his papers. Who did he think he was? Mickey Rourke in
9
½
Weeks
? God, I loved that movie. After I saw it I bought a garter belt and stockings. I wore them for a few days, feeling very sexy, until I experienced a garter malfunction. Have you ever had a stocking suddenly pool around your ankle while you’re in the process of boarding a bus? There is no quicker path to feeling like an old lady.
“Alice.”
“What?”
“Come here
now.
”
“I’ve always fantasized about having sex on a table but I’m not sure I’d recommend it,” William said half an hour later.
“I concur, Mr. B.”
“What did you think about the pitch?”
“I’m not sure the client will go for it.”
“Why not?”
“The client thinks it’s a bit too on-the-nose. Can we move this into the
bedroom now?” In order to lie next to each other on the table, each of us had a leg and an arm dangling off.
“I’ve changed my mind. I like the table.”
“Well,” I said. “It’s hard. I’ll give you that.” My hand traveled down his chest to his waist.
“That’s the nature of a table,” he said, covering my hand with his own, guiding it south.
“Always have to be in charge, don’t you.”
He groaned softly when I touched him. “I’ll come up with a new pitch, Ms. A. I promise.”
“Don’t be stingy. Five new pitches. The client would like some choices.”
In deference to Helen, not wanting to rub it in her face (this was my idea), we’d decided it was best if our relationship stayed secret at work. Keeping up the masquerade was both thrilling and exhausting. William passed by my cubicle at least ten times a day, and because I could see directly into his office (and whenever I looked, he was looking right back at me) I was in a constant state of arousal. Nights, I came home and collapsed from the effort of having to sublimate my desire all day. Then I sat around and thought about his Levi’s. And how he looked in those Levi’s. And when we did venture out, for a walk in the Public Garden or to a Red Sox game, or to the hinterlands of Allston to hear some alternative band, it was like we’d never done any of those things before. Boston was a new city with him by my side.
I’m sure we were extremely annoying. Especially to older couples that did not walk down the sidewalk hand in hand, who often didn’t even seem to be speaking, a three-foot distance between them. I was incapable of understanding that their silence might be a comfortable, hard-won silence, a benefit that came from years of being together; I just thought how sad it was they had nothing to say to one another.
But never mind them. William kissed me deeply on the sidewalk, fed me bites of his pizza, and sometimes when nobody was looking, copped a quick feel. Outside of work we were either arm in arm or hands in each other’s back pockets. I see these couples now, so smug, appearing to need nobody but one another, and it hurts to look at them. It’s hard for me to believe that we were once one of those couples looking at people like us, thinking
if you’re so damn unhappy why don’t you just get divorced?
Lucy Pevensie
Not a fan of Turkish Delight.
38 minutes ago
John Yossarian
Has a pain in his liver.
39 minutes ago
So sorry to hear you’re feeling unwell, Researcher 101.
Thank you. I’ve been spending a lot of time in the infirmary.
I assume you’ll still be in the infirmary tomorrow?
Yes, and the next day and the next and the next until this damn war is over.
But not so ill that—
I can’t read your surveys—no. Never that ill.
Are you saying you like reading my answers, Researcher 101?
You describe things so colorfully.
I can’t help it. I was a playwright once.
You’re still a playwright.
No, I’m wan, boring, and absurd.
You’re funny, too.
I’m quite certain my family would not agree.
Regarding #49. I’m curious. Have you ever been to the Taj Mahal?
I was there just last week. Courtesy of Google Earth. Have you ever been?
No, but it’s on my list.
What else is on your list—and please don’t say seeing the
Mona Lisa
at the Louvre.
Tying a cherry stem with my tongue.
Suggest you set the bar a little higher.
Standing atop an iceberg.
Higher.
Saving somebody’s marriage.
Too high. Good luck on that.
So listen, I have to press you a bit further on your refusal to answer #48.Resistance of this sort usually indicates we’ve touched upon a hot-button topic.
You sound like the Borg.
I would guess your aversion has something to do with the way the question was posed?
Honestly I can’t remember how it was posed.
It was posed in an entirely clichéd way.
Now I remember.
You’re insulted by a question that has been so clearly designed for the masses. To be lumped into a group is an affront for you.
Now you sound like an astrologer. Or a human resources manager.
Perhaps I can ask #48 in a way that you might find more palatable.
Go right ahead, Researcher 101.
Describe the last time you felt cared for by your husband.
Come to think of it, I prefer the original question.
