The Housewife Blues Read online

  Myrna Davis rang Jenny's buzzer at exactly nine-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday in June, precisely when the tall antique clock Jenny and Larry had bought at a Soho store chimed the half hour. Jenny was drinking her second cup of coffee and making a list of ingredients she would be buying later for chicken Kiev, which was to be the centerpiece for Friday's dinner Larry had arranged for Vincent and Connie Mazzo. Larry had on occasion mentioned Vincent, referring to him as the only one in the agency who knew his ass from first base.

  Although she was quite confident about being able to put together a wonderful meal, Jenny was not as confident about meeting the wives of Larry's colleagues, although she didn't express these reservations to Larry. Up until then he had not made any demands for her participation in any social obligations that had to do with his work.

  Not that she didn't have expectations of this happening one day. Larry had on occasion expressed the necessity of husband-and-wife teamwork effort in the corporate world, and she assured herself repeatedly that she was fully prepared to shoulder the burden. But now that it was imminent she wasn't so confident. Worse, Larry had told her that the dinner was not merely socially important, but crucial.

  "Crucial?" She was surprised that he had elevated the occasion to such importance. That part was unnerving.

  "It's a bonding mechanism," Larry told her. "Vincent and I have made big plans together, and we both think it's important to put the wives together. At first we were thinking of going out, but I told him that my little woman is one great cook. After all, why not step out with your best foot forward?"

  "I'll do my best, Larry," she had replied, hoping that the nervousness about meeting one of his colleagues' wives wouldn't hurt the dinner.

  "Wives need to feel part of it, Jenny," Larry said.

  "But I do feel part of it, Larry. Whatever happens to you happens to me, doesn't it?"

  "In that respect, yes," he agreed. "I'm not particularly worried about you, Jenny. You know your place in the scheme of things. But Vincent and Connie have a different kind of relationship. She's a lawyer and a lot more involved than you are in business. Anyway, Vince thinks it's important that the wives meet and that the four of us get together."

  "I hope I'll make a good impression."

  She admitted to herself some concern about dealing with Vincent's wife. It was hard to envision what kind of a woman she was.

  "It wasn't my idea, Jenny. I prefer the gals to stay out of the way. Just be the way you are."

  The discussion had taken place in the kitchen. He had embraced her from behind as she stood in front of the sink, and the entire conversation had taken place in that position. "Some wives can be real bitchy. You know. Influencing their husbands when they don't know beans about anything. Vince and I are setting up this partnership, and I don't want anything to louse up the deal."

  "I certainly won't."

  "You? No way. But Connie could. Vince says she's got a good sixth sense about people. That always worries me."

  "Why so?"

  "It implies that her judgment about people is infallible, which it can't be. And even if it's pretty good, some people are very clever about hiding who they really are. What they really think." He pressed her closer to him and whispered, "Not you baby. What you see is what you get."

  Did that mean he thought she was transparent? She wasn't sure, but it did not seem the time to raise that particular point. Instead she asked another question that was rattling around in her mind.

  "Are you saying that if Connie Mazzo doesn't like me, you and Vincent wouldn't go ahead with whatever you're planning?"

  "I'm not saying that," Larry replied. "But the fact is that some wives have more to say than others. Who knows. She might wonder why Vince wants to get in bed with us in the first place. People make judgments based on emotion, first impressions. Not me. I want to know the facts first. That's why I'm in research. I want to know hard facts."

  "So in a way it's some kind of a test ... for me."

  "Let's say for both of us."

  "But mostly for me."

  "What happens to you happens to me."

  For the first time in their marriage a flicker of doubt crossed her mind. "But you've met her," she said, taking a chance that it was true.

  "Yes, I have," he admitted, averting his eyes.

  "So it really is a test for me," she persisted. "I'm the one on the hot seat."

  He seemed to sigh with resignation. "For us, Jenny. Why are you being so defensive? Neither of them has been to our home, met us as a couple."

  Yes, she decided, there was some truth to that. But then she hadn't been to their home.

  "But suppose I can't stand her? Or him? Would you still go into business with them?"

  "There it is," he snapped. "That's why it's really better for the women to stay out of it."

  She decided it was a good moment to change the tenor of the discussion. "And you're satisfied with Vincent?" she asked, wondering if she had overstepped. It was quickly apparent that she had.

  "Would I be inviting him if I wasn't?" he asked, showing a flash of irritation. "I'm telling you, Jenny. He's the best. He controls two of the agency's biggest clients, and we could be in business in ninety days. He'd be Mr. Outside and I'd be Mr. Inside."

  "Sounds terrific, Larry." I think, she told herself.

  She sensed an undercurrent that wasn't to her liking. Were they planning to steal the two accounts away from their present employer? She didn't pursue the idea. That wasn't her place.

  "I hope she doesn't think I'm just a Hoosier hick, unworldly and naive."

  "And if she does? Maybe that's a plus. One thing she'll know, and that's that you're never going to interfere with the business. If you came over as some pushy bitch, she might think you were a threat."

  "Suppose I think she's a pushy bitch?"

  "She probably is. But I'm not prepared to queer the deal because of that. Wrong timing. I need Vince now. But I'll promise you one thing. Soon as we get rolling, she'll have to keep her nose out."

  "I'll do my best," Jenny sighed.

  "You are the best," he whispered. "That's the point."

  "No. This is the point." She giggled, caressing his erection. He began to raise her dress, and she felt his fingers reaching for the elastic of her panties. "Here? Right now?"

  "Well, you've already loaded the dishwasher," he said, and she could feel his nakedness behind her and her own rising desire as she braced her hands against the rim of the sink and arched her body.

  Certainly Larry could guide her in what was required of her in a business sense, and she was determined to fulfill his expectations. Business was his. The house was hers. At least in theory. But he was a bit overprotective in his attitude about New York and New Yorkers, and she was finding herself less and less in step with his opinions on this subject. Yet she did not feel secure enough to challenge his attitudes on a regular basis. She also found herself beginning to question his judgment on some issues about what did and did not go on in the real world. In fact, sometimes she felt vaguely confused by his assertions.

  Just yesterday she had discussed the subject of neighbors with her mother on the telephone.

  "You mean you don't know your neighbors?" her mother had exclaimed after Jenny had told her that it was not generally accepted in New York to be neighborly.

  "Well, I've met them. We had one couple for dinner. But I don't know them in the way you know your neighbors," she had admitted. "Sensible people find it better not to get involved." The episode with Teddy passed through her mind. For a brief moment she was tempted to tell her mother what she had done, then thought better of it, although in her heart she felt her mother would understand.

  "Surely you've made new friends," her mother said with an obvious twinge of alarm.

  Her mother's notion of "friends" had an entirely different definition from what she had encountered so far in New York. Jenny decided it was far too complicated to explain the gap that had opened between he
r mother's world and her own.

  "Mostly Larry and I have spent the time getting to know one another," Jenny said. It was, she thought, a reasonably honest answer, as near to the truth as she could get without it becoming an outright lie.

  "That probably makes a lot of sense," her mother replied. "But sooner or later you'll want for friends. And you never know when you might need a neighbor."

  At that point Jenny's mother began a long recitation on the subject of neighbors, citing the Robinsons, who had been an integral part of their lives, and how their fortunes had intermingled and how they had come through in emergencies. Penny Robinson had been her best friend in high school but had married a naval officer and had drifted away. And Celia Robinson, Penny's mother, was to this day her mother's best friend. After a while it sounded to Jenny like a voice from an alien world, a kind of rambling lecture on the subject of people needing people. There was only one way to stop the lecture.

  "This is New York, Mom. Not Bedford, Indiana."

  At that point her mother branched off onto another of her favorite subjects, people being the same everywhere. Jenny listened with less than complete attention until her mother exclaimed with a prescience that seemed a bit scary:

  "You mustn't become like them, Jenny."

  It was, of course, the heart of her mother's worry, and it came out in the most seemingly benign but telling ways. Jenny supposed that all mothers of children brought up in small towns were afflicted with the same fundamental fear of the impersonal corrupting alien world that confronted their offspring in the big city. And despite her dismissal of her mother's remark as typical, she had not challenged it, although she was completely convinced that she could never, ever, become like "them." How could she? Nevertheless, the idea that her mother would be concerned about such a thing happening was worrisome and disconcerting and brought on a mild depression.

  Finally Jenny began the withdrawal from the conversation with the usual regards to the rest of the family and the promise to visit Bedford for the Fourth of July if Larry could manage the time. This last cautionary note was designed to soften the blow, since it was more likely that Larry would decline the trip and she would, of course, not go without him.

  The lingering effects of her depression were still bothering her when she opened the door to Myrna Davis on that June morning. Myrna, whom she had barely seen since delivering the shoes from Bloomingdale's and getting snubbed for her effort, was beautifully groomed in a yellow cotton suit and matching shoes. Around her neck she wore a silver pendant, which she fingered nervously as she stood in the doorway, offering a broad, pink-lipsticked smile that set off her very white, even teeth. She was quite striking, in marked contrast to Jenny in her loose sweats.

  Larry was usually long gone on his jogging trip to the office when Jenny awakened. At first she had attempted to rise with him to make him breakfast. But that had ceased when she'd discovered that all he had for breakfast on weekdays was a cup of coffee and a piece of whole-wheat toast. She would have been content to make even that, except that he was not very communicative in the morning, preferring the company of The New York Times.

  She also discovered that he was quite content with this arrangement, and after a while she fell into the pattern of sleeping a bit later without the slightest guilt. It was just one other dose of reality that separated New Yorkers from Hoosiers.

  Her mother had risen to make breakfast for her family every day of her life, and she still made it for her father. And breakfast was abundant, with juice, hot cereal, eggs, sausage, bacon or ham, toast, rolls, jam, and fresh-brewed coffee. Just thinking about it these days summoned up memories that often brought tears to Jenny's eyes.

  "I hope I haven't disturbed you," Myrna said, looking beyond Jenny to the interior of the apartment.

  "Not at all," Jenny said, again feeling the same awkwardness that she had felt in her first confrontation with Myrna Davis. For some reason this woman, with her air of superiority and confidence, made Jenny feel diminished, a clumsy hick.

  "I have a favor to ask," Myrna said.

  Despite her own sense of intimidation, Jenny sensed Myrna's nervousness, as if she were more ill at ease than Jenny. It gave Jenny the courage to invite her in.

  "Of course," Jenny said, standing aside as Myrna entered the apartment. Jenny observed her as she inspected the place. She seemed to fill it with her presence, her tallness, her coloring, her wonderful perfume.

  "Nice," Myrna said with an air of someone who hadn't quite expected what she saw.

  "Thank you," Jenny said as if she had been anointed. The approval further sparked her courage. "I was just having some coffee. Would you like some?"

  "That would be wonderful," Myrna said, drawing out the "won" in wonderful as if she were being offered vintage champagne. The acceptance surprised Jenny, since it was obvious that Myrna was dressed and ready to pursue her day, which from the look of her seemed to promise marvelous and exciting events. Why waste time with little me? Jenny thought, instantly hating her own reaction.

  She went into the kitchen to get the coffee, intending to prepare a nice tray and bring it into the living room. But Myrna followed her into the kitchen.

  "What a wonderful place," Myrna said, again emphasizing the "won" in wonderful. "You must love to cook."

  "I do," Jenny said, pulling two mugs from a shelf and placing them on the kitchen island. She poured the coffee into the mugs. Myrna took hers, and her nostrils twitched as she inhaled the aroma. "Nothing like freshly ground coffee."

  "It's a great blend. We get it at Zabar's."

  "Don't you just love that place?" Myrna said, almost girlish in her enthusiasm, as if the ultrasophistication of her dress and attitude were only a contrived pose for business purposes.

  "It's, it's wonderful," Jenny said, trying to extend the "won" but stopping midway, feeling suddenly uncomfortable and clumsy with the affectation.

  "How I envy you," Myrna said, shaking her head as if in admiration.

  "Me?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "No, I don't."

  "Being a wife." Myrna paused, studying Jenny. "I've never been," she said with obvious regret. "Oh, I've been married. Twice, actually. But I wasn't a wife either time. There's a difference." She trained her eyes on Jenny. "Now you. There's a contentment about you. I noticed it the first time I saw you."

  Jenny sipped her coffee and shrugged. She hadn't thought of herself as merely content, which had a passive connotation about it. But Myrna would not give her any time for reflection.

  "Sometimes we women out in the so-called big bad world can't see the forest for the trees," Myrna continued. She put her hand on her chest. "Hell, in my business we push the idea that the competing, upwardly mobile, ball-busting woman offers the best of all possible lives for our gender. We design our pitch so that housewives are portrayed as the drones of the female sex, slave to man's whims, put-upon, unrewarded, lesser beings. And we do it deliberately." She paused, looked at Jenny, then winked. "Make 'em insecure and they'll swallow anything."

  "In a way you sound like Larry," Jenny said. "He's a vice-president in charge of research for Payne and Magruder." She put a deliberate emphasis on the name of the advertising agency.

  Registering the name, Myrna nodded in acknowledgment, widening her eyes as if impressed. "Then, surely, he knows whereof I speak."

  "Actually we've never discussed it."

  She inspected Jenny's face. "I guess you wouldn't. Why bring such slop into your lives? For him this place has to be an oasis, free of the grit, a refuge from the madding crowd." She took a deep sip of her coffee.

  "Little things like a good cup of coffee can make your heart sing," Myrna said.

  "I'm glad you like it," Jenny said, hoping that Myrna was sincere. There was no way she could tell. Sophisticated women like Myrna were so articulate and worldly that it was hard to read them. Not like us ordinary mortals, she told herself as if to satirize her own sense of inferiority in the presence
of such a queenly creature. Again she found herself resenting her own attitude. Why does this woman make me feel this way? she asked herself.

  "Here I am babbling away and I've not even broached the object of my visit." Jenny noticed that Myrna took a quick, furtive look at the face of the kitchen clock. "I need your help on a matter of great delicacy." Jenny didn't reply, wondering what possible favor Myrna needed that required such an elaborate buildup. "All I need from you is your willingness to accept a package for me."

  "Is that all?"

  Suddenly Jenny remembered Larry's displeasure at her acceptance of the shoes from Bloomie's. In fairness, Jenny thought, she had portrayed Myrna as ungrateful and unfriendly.

  "No, that isn't quite all, Jenny," Myrna said, her glance roaming everywhere but directly into Jenny's eyes.

  Jenny was genuinely puzzled. On the surface it seemed like a simple request. Then why was Myrna being hesitant and obviously uncomfortable?

  "The package will come in your name," Myrna said, lowering her voice to what was a distinctly conspiratorial tone.

  "My name?"

  "I mean it will be addressed to you, but it will really be for me." Jenny started to respond, but Myrna cut her off abruptly. "It's nothing illegal, just something ... well ... for me." Myrna winked. "Oh, all right ... it's a gift from an admirer who wants to keep a secret that it's from him. Am I making myself clear here? It seems that I'm doing this rather badly."

  "No. I think I understand." Jenny wasn't completely certain that she did, but the favor itself seemed simple. "It comes to me in my name and I bring it upstairs to you."

  "It's just a wee bit more convoluted than that," Myrna said. "Oh, nothing really complicated. I'm being silly about it. It will probably arrive here sometime tomorrow or Friday. The thing is ... well ... it should be brought upstairs on Saturday. Say noon, if that's no trouble. Just ring the buzzer and leave the package against the door."