"Are you going to take us to Disney World?" she asked, in the midst of the hug.
"Not tonight," I said.
"Okay, but sometime," Belinda said.
"I wouldn't make her any promises, if I were you," Jean said. "She has a memory like an elephant."
"Jist do it sometime," Belinda said, just as her mother turned off the light.
Chapter XIII
It was only about 8:30 when we put the girls to bed. By Georgetown standards the evening was just beginning. If I had been dutiful I could still have salvaged Cindy's evening. All I would have had to do was thank Jean, dash back to Cindy's, endure a bit of a fit, and proceed on to the party. We would hardly even be thought late, and Cindy's reputation would be secure.
But an hour and a half later I had made no moves at all toward securing her reputation. I was still sitting in Jean's pleasant kitchen, drinking brandy and soda. Jean had another large mug of tea, but no brandy and soda. I guess she didn't need it because she wasn't nervous. I was very nervous and drank more than I usually drink.
I don't know why I was nervous, because Jean was quite relaxed and merely told me the story of her life—a life so normal its story didn't take long to tell. Her father worked for the Department of Agriculture, which is how she had happened to get to live in Mexico. Other than that, she had always lived in Maryland, not far from where we were at that moment. She had gone to the University of Maryland, married Jimmy when he was a graduate student, had two daughters and various not very interesting jobs, and that was it. For years she had spent ail her spare time at flea markets and swap-meets, buying things and sticking whatever wouldn't fit into her house in her parents' garage, which was a few miles away, in Poolsville.
"I've always been a junk junkie," she said. "I don't know if I really want the stuff, or if it's just a good way to pass the time. A little of both, I guess."
"You don't buy junk," I said. "You buy very nice things."
"Oh well," she said, dismissing the compliment. "I've never had any money. I don't think I've ever spent over fifty dollars for anything."
"But you were ready to spend several hundred on the icon," I reminded her.
"It was an act of defiance," she said. "I get a little crazy about objects, sometimes. Also it makes me mad that I never have any money. Jimmy has plenty of money but he's obsessive about not spending it. If I had spent six hundred dollars on an icon while I was married to him he would have cut my throat."
That was surprising. Jimmy hadn't looked rich.
"Oh, he's rich, all right," Jean said. "You'd never guess it from how we lived, though. Jimmy's all screwed up. He has all the attitudes of a rich person but he won't spend money. He wants to be waited on hand and foot and he can usually find some woman that will do it. I even did it for a while, but no more. I'm not waiting on anybody hand and foot again."
She looked at me rather severely, as if she expected that I might reveal myself to be a person who wanted to be waited on.
"The only redeeming thing about Jimmy is that he loves the girls," Jean said. "He's easy to replace as a husband but not so easy to replace as a father. Although even there you can't count on him for the practical stuff, like taking them to the dentist and buying them shoes. But he does love them a lot."
"And he uses them to try and get you back, right?" I said, since I thought I had observed that very tactic being used the day I had seen him.
"Oh, yeah, but he's not getting me back," Jean said.
"Jimmy's incapable of learning a new trick, and I’m not susceptible to the old tricks anymore."
She stared off into space when she said it, and then turned her eyes suddenly and caught me looking at her. All evening I had been becoming progressively more impressed with her, and more attracted as well, but at the same time I felt unusually cautious. I had sense enough to know she was not the kind of woman I knew much about. For one thing, she was two years older than me and up to that point I had never had a single girl friend who was older. Besides, Jean had been a mother for five years, and I had never been a father. I had never had a single girl friend who had a child, either. In a way, they and I were the children, our relationships probably not much more serious than a trip to Disney Worid.
Watching Jean gave me the sense that there were probably reaches of womanhood I hadn't experienced. Jean's world seemed quite modest, but it also seemed to have a density and an intricacy that I wasn't familiar with. It wasn't just the girls, either. It showed itself even in the way the objects in the kitchen had been placed. It wasn't overplanned, but at the same time it was subtle.
"Why are you looking that way?" Jean asked.
"I don't know what way I'm looking," I said
"Worried, that's how you're looking," she said. "What have you got to be worried about? You seem to be free as the breeze."
"I guess I am," I said.
Jean looked faintly disgusted.
"I guess I have no right to pry," she said. "It was nice of you to come to dinner. In theory I like for the girls to know there are other men in the world besides their father, in case I end up with one. But in practice I never bring anyone home."
"Do you think you'll end up with one?" I asked.
"Oh, sure," Jean said. "I probably will. I could use some help with these girls. It's hard to maintain the kind of enthusiasm it takes to stimulate two kids, if you're just one person. That's why I asked you to dinner. The girls think you're interesting."
She grinned.
"Maybe you are," she said. "But how am I gonna know if you're just gonna sit there drinking brandy and looking worried?"
"Are you divorced already?" I asked.
It sounded like a silly question, and Jean looked slightly disgusted again.
"No, but I've filed," she said. "The hearing's in about a month. Jimmy gave me a lot of trouble. He can't get it through his head that I really want to leave him. His immediate conclusion was that I was insane, since in his view only someone insane could want to leave him. He's got a nice girl friend—or nice enough—but that doesn't seem to affect his thinking. Then when he decided I meant business he got vindictive and did a lot of childish things."
"Like what?"
"Like canceling all the credit cards and taking all the money out of the joint account," she said. "He even changed the lock on the Volvo door, so I couldn't get in and drive it."
"Gosh," I said. "He seemed kinda nice."
"He is nice, except when he's threatened with the loss of a possession," Jean said. "Then he reverts to being a rich child."
She fiddled with her mug, looking at me speculatively.
"He knows all about you," she said.
"What do you mean? We haven't even really met."
"Yeah, but he took your license number, the other day at the store," Jean said. "His family's famous around here, you know. His father has a very important job."
"Doing what?"
"At the CIA," Jean said. "Besides that his family owns a detective agency that does a lot of work for the government. So Jimmy called the family detective agency and told them to find out everything about you."
That was surprising. It was hard to believe that a man with a nice face, overalls, and an old Volvo would simply do things like that.
"What did he find out?" I asked. Actually I was curious to know how my life might look to a total stranger, such as a detective.
"Oh well," Jean said, shrugging. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"Tell me anyway."
"Well," she said, "he found out who your girl friend is, and that you just bought a horse farm in Middleburg from one of his father's old rivals.”
"I didn't really buy it," I said. "A good detective would have found out right away that I don't have that kind of money."
She nodded. "He told me that, too," she said. "He thinks you're just a front for somebody. Jimmy's very scornful of people who don't really have money. Also, he hated your car."
"Well," I said. "He doesn't hav
e to ride in it."
There was quite a long silence, after that.
"So did you stand her up?" Jean asked. "Is that why you're worried?"
I finished my brandy and took my glass to the sink, to wash it out. It's a finicky habit of mine, which seems to be getting worse. I have a compulsion to wash out my glasses. When I set it on the cabinet I looked down at Jean, who was looking at me with a slightly expectant smile. I didn't know whether she wanted a comment or a kiss. Since I didn't have a comment I leaned over and kissed her, though the kiss was so hesitant that it barely reached her. She quickly put a light hand on my neck. Her hand was warm, from having been holding the tea mug all this time. I was bent over awkwardly, which she seemed to realize, because she too stood up. Even so I was a lot taller than she was.
"The first thing I ever really wanted was stilts," she said, drawing back for a moment.
"You really are worried, aren't you?" she said, leading me out of the kitchen. I assumed we were going up to the bedroom but instead she led me to the couch with the brown lap robe, where, in a very short time, we managed to make love. I wasn't in a hurry, but Jean was. I think she was in such a hurry that she cheated herself out of an orgasm, but I couldn't be sure.
"No woman likes to be upstaged by her own daughter," she said, by way of comment, afterward. "I shouldn't have drunk so much tea. I could feel it jiggling."
The ends of her short hair were damp with sweat. She stuffed a blue pillow under her head and kept her eyes on the stairway.
"No woman likes to be caught in the act, either,'* she said. "Particularly if she's got a daughter like Belinda."
Actually we had only managed to get undressed in the most basic areas.
"She's got an instinct for hanky-panky," Jean added. "Only there hasn't been any for so long she may have lost it."
After a bit she went up to the bathroom and came down wearing a blue bathrobe. She was extremely appealing and I grew hopeful of more lovemaking, but Jean seemed rather reserved. She was listening. Some instinct had been awakened. After a bit she tucked her robe about her, very demurely. A moment later Belinda appeared at the foot of the stairs, clutching her beaver.
"You shutted my door," she said to her mother.
"We were thinking of playing some records," Jean said. "We didn't want to wake you up."
Belinda came over and crawled up in her mother's lap. Jean attempted to smooth out a few of her curls, an impossible task.
"Is he spending the night?" Belinda asked.
"Nope," Jean said. "Wanta kick him out?"
Belinda yawned. "Don't care," she said. She buried her face in her mother's bathrobe and was soon asleep.
"Where's the trunk I sold you?" I asked.
Jean reached across Belinda and took my hand. "Why, it's in my bedroom, where all the really super things are," she said.
"I don't guess I'm going to get to see it tonight, am I?"
"I wouldn't think you'd have the time," Jean said, dryly. "You probably ought to be getting back to the lady you stood up."
"I don't think it matters whether I get back or not," I said. "I imagine the damage is done."
"Oh, ho, ho," Jean said. "You underestimate us ladies. We're forgiving creatures. We don't banish a man for five minutes' indiscretion.
"Jimmy said she was engaged," she remarked. "That seemed a little odd."
"Yeah," I said. "Seems that way to me too."
"Well, maybe it isn't," Jean said. "Maybe you just like women who aren't available."
That was such a surprising suggestion that I didn't answer.
"Seeing me with Jimmy might have given you the notion that I wasn't particularly available, either," she said. "Your girl friend's not quite married, and I'm not quite divorced. Maybe that's what attracts you to us."
"It is not," I said. "It could just be something normal, like your eyes, that attracted me to you. You have wonderful eyes."
Jean immediately looked chastened, and moved closer to me. She shifted Belinda so that her feet were in my lap. We kissed for a bit.
"That's a bad thing I do," Jean said. "I posit the abnormal in everything that happens to me, now. I guess there's no reason why you couldn't have a normal attraction, whatever that is. It just doesn't seem to be your pattern."
"I don't really have a pattern," I said. "I just let things happen."
Jean gave me a dig with her elbow. "Well, if you want to see my bedroom you're gonna have to be a little more active," she said. "I've reached the stage where I require gentlemen to earn their privileges."
"Well," I said, "I could take you out to dinner. We could go to a movie."
"Keep talking," Jean said. "You're making progress. I haven't been taken out in so long that the very words sound quaint. Jimmy and I never went out."
"Why not?"
"Because he's too tight to spend money in restaurants," she said. "Buying the girls burgers is about as extravagant as he ever gets. He would never buy anything that wasn't necessary to his pleasure. Magazines, for instance. I think the reason I broke up with him is because he yelled and screamed every time I bought a magazine. I happen to love to read magazines. But Jimmy couldn't see wasting money on something you'd just throw away in a couple of days."
At that point I remembered that I was technically scheduled to leave for New Mexico in the morning. Of course my defection might have turned Cindy against that plan, but if it hadn't, things looked complicated.
I guess the thought of this complication made me frown, because Jean put a hand on my forehead and rubbed gently.
"You just got a crease in your brow," she said.
"Yeah, because I just remembered I was supposed to go to New Mexico in the morning," I said. "It might interfere with my taking you out for about a week."
Jean's look was rather noncommittal.
"We could make a date, though," I said. "I won't be more than ten days. Why don't we make a date for ten days from tonight?"
"What's in New Mexico?" she asked.
I told her all about the boots of Billy the Kid, which fascinated her. Then we kissed some more, over the recumbent, peacefully sleeping Belinda. I thought she might take me upstairs for the night, which would eliminate the problem of New Mexico, but Jean balked.
"Why not?" I said.
"Oh, I don't know," Jean said. "I think I'll just keep you waiting until you take me out. It seems kind of Victorian. It's been about five years since I was taken out. It's funny how the most normal things come to seem the most exotic, if you stop doing them."
"I guess I'm a poor judge of people," I said. "Jimmy looked normal, the one time I saw him."
"Well, he's a charmer," Jean said. "He charms everyone. He even charmed me, once upon a time. Naturally most people think I'm to blame for everything. Even my folks think it, since he's totally charming whenever he gets around them."
"Does that bother you?”
"Sure," she said. "You can't win against charm. The fact that he's intensely selfish, phobically tight, and has had girl friends practically from day one doesn't mean anything. People look at that winning little face of his and two minutes later they're making excuses for him."
Jean leaned over the back of the couch and peeked very cautiously through the blinds.
"I'm sure there's a detective out there somewhere," she said. "Jimmy can't bear to have his curiosity thwarted. He'll spend thousands, if necessary, to find out what's going on."
She draped Belinda over her shoulder and went around peeping out windows, but of course she couldn't see a thing.
"Maybe the detective will follow you all the way to New
Mexico," she said, grinning. "Think how much that will cost. Jimmy’s going to be furious."
Then she wished me a pleasant trip and kissed me goodnight.
As I was driving through Wheaton I happened to pass a newsstand that was open, so I stopped and bought her sixty dollars' worth of magazines. I bought one of practically every magazine they had: fashion magazines, poli
tical magazines, movie magazines. I even bought her a surfboarding magazine. Then I tied them in a bundle and went back and left them on her porch, inside her screen door. The house was dark but there was a faint glow from what must have been her bedroom window—the kind of glow made by a TV set. The glow made me wistful. I would have liked to be in bed with Jean, watching TV. I went back and sat in my car for a while, feeling indecisive. Maybe Jean would like it if I knocked. Maybe she was feeling wistful, too. My sudden reappearance might come as a happy surprise.
On the other hand, it might make her mad as hell. Jean hadn't looked wistful at all when she said goodnight. She had looked cheerful and friendly. Now she was probably just lying in bed watching a late movie, not missing me or anyone. I kept sort of hoping the glow would go out, so I would know she was definitely asleep, but it didn't and I finally just drove off, feeling very half and half.
I drove all the way to Washington fantasizing about what might have happened if I had gone back and knocked on Jean's door. In fantasy the gamble was wildly successful and led to a night of passion and coziness in 4he mysterious bedroom containing the wonderful dower chest. I knew it was only a fantasy, but I kept fantasizing it right up to the moment I let myself in Cindy's door.
Chapter XIV
Cindy was sitting in the middle of the bed in her nightgown, surrounded by piles of damp Kleenex. I was prepared for anger, but not for such a picture of devastation. She looked like she had been crying for about six hours. At some point she had run out of Kleenex and had simply let the tears run down the front of her nightgown, which was soaked. Her tear ducts were evidently just as healthy as the rest of her, but she had finally emptied them and was just sitting blankly when I walked in. When she heard me she looked around and cringed, as if she were a dog who had just been beaten and was about to be beaten again.
"What's the matter?" I asked, aware that the question was inadequate. I couldn't think of any other way to start.
"I've never been treated like this before," she said, in an exhausted little voice very unlike the voice she normally used.