“I know. It’s just that … I don’t know …”
“Didn’t you ever have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“So you never kissed a girl, even?”
“No.”
I was incredulous. “Spin the bottle?”
“No!”
“Boy!”
He was irritated. “Well, did you ever kiss a girl?”
“Of course! How do you think we practiced for the real thing?”
“A real, sexual kiss?”
“Well, no. It was through a pillow.”
“Right. That’s not it, and you know it.”
I picked up a blade of grass, began to peel thin, supple strips from it. “I’ll kiss you if you want.” He didn’t answer. “Of course, you don’t have to.”
“No, it’s … I do want to.”
“Okay,” I said. “Do you want to be serious? Should I do my best stuff?”
“Yes,” he said, and I heard a slight tremor in his voice. “I want to be serious.”
“Okay,” I said, and closed my eyes.
“I mean it!” he said.
“Okay!” I closed my eyes again. My lids were jerking wildly.
He took his jacket off and spread it on the ground. “Lie down.”
I opened my eyes. “Laurence! That’s your four-hundred-dollar Italian blazer from Mr. Eric’s!”
“You have to be lying down. We have to relax.”
I shrugged. “Okay.” I lay down and smoothed my skirt beneath me.
“You look nice in a dress. I hardly ever see you in a dress.”
“Thank you.”
“And … you smell nice, too.”
I swallowed, and watched as he lay down next to me. He turned on his side, put one hand along the side of my face, pushed his fingers into my hair, and kissed me. His lips were slightly rough, but nice. He was a very sensual kisser. I felt my stomach start to soften, and I kissed him back. It was a long kiss, deep, and when he pulled away I was breathless and full of desire. I thought, Oh, I’ve been married so long. We’re in a kind of rut. Affairs can actually make marriages better. He’s such a good friend, he’s so handsome. I’ll do it. I looked over at him. He was on his back, looking up into the sky. “Are you okay?” I hoped he would rise up and kiss me again soon.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m okay. God, I didn’t feel anything.” I was quiet, and he turned his head to look at me. “I mean, nothing!”
“Fine!” I said. “I heard you!”
“Oh.” He touched my arm. “I’m … sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I sat up. “So. So much for thinking maybe you’d make a major change for real. Of course, maybe I’m just not your type.”
He put his hand on my back. “No, if I went for women, you’d be the one.”
I looked at my watch. “I’d better go home. I need to help Lyn with some French.”
“Her teacher’s an asshole, you know.”
“Her French teacher?”
“Yes. Did she tell you what he did to the kid who forgot his homework twice in a row?”
“No, what?”
“He had to stand at the blackboard with his nose in a circle. It was high up—the kid had to stand on his tiptoes.”
“Jesus!”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“No. She tells you everything. I just clean her room.” We walked back to the car. Laurence turned on the radio, then turned the volume down low. “Do I need to say I’m sorry again?”
“I don’t think so. No, you don’t need to apologize.”
“I’m sorry, Susan.”
“Okay.”
“Do you think you should come to my mother’s house for dinner?”
“No!”
“You’re right, this was a stupid idea. But I can undo it all gradually.”
“Yeah, don’t tell her the truth all at once. It can be hard to take.”
“I know.” He reached for my hand.
He drove me home and I told him to go slowly down the neighborhood streets so I could look inside all the houses we passed. I liked seeing people being themselves, walking around in T-shirts or robes, eating something they held in their hands. I liked seeing what was up on all the walls, especially if I hated it. “Look at that painting over that couch!” I told Laurence as we passed one ranch-style house.
“Oh, Jesus, look at the couch!” he said.
“I can’t believe some people,” I said. “I can’t believe what some people like.”
He drove even slower. He drove so slowly I thought maybe we’d get pulled over for looking suspicious. But we needed to do this. We needed to make sure we weren’t missing anything.
The Thief
Kate Conway groaned so loudly in aisle three of the Shop ’n Save that people around her stood still for a moment, waiting to see what would happen next. But nothing happened next. Kate was simply reading the ingredients list on a box of Frosted Fruity O’s, and when she finished she simply put the cereal in her basket. She had promised her children the night before that she would buy it for them today. “We never get to eat anything fun,” they had complained. “It won’t kill us, you know!” Kate had her doubts about that, but David had sided with them, saying, “Look, it’s fine that you’re so conscientious. I want them to be healthy, too. But if you go too crazy, they’ll only rebel later on. They’ll be perpetual graduate students living in infested walk-ups, subsisting on nitrates and dye just to spite you.”
After she checked out, she wheeled the basket of groceries toward her van, thinking, Why do I get so obsessed about things like nutrition anyway? It’s because I’m bored. It’s because my life has become flat. I wish I was having an affair with the butcher. She raised the hatch and loaded the bags in, envisioning the man at the meat counter. He was very handsome. She imagined him looking at her as though she were beautiful. Nah, she thought, slamming the door shut. We’d only break up, and then I’d be embarrassed to ring the bell and ask for better-looking rib roast.
She started the van and turned the radio on. At first, when she heard two voices, she thought the station wasn’t tuned in properly and she reached for the dial. Then she realized a man’s voice was coming from behind her seat. “A beautiful day in Boston!” the radio said. “Go straight home,” the other voice said.
This is a joke, she thought. She started to turn around and the voice said, “Don’t.” Oh, she thought. I see. This is not a joke. It is something else.
“I know where you live,” the voice said. “Don’t think about going anywhere else.” She swallowed, put the car in gear, and started toward the exit of the parking lot. Her arms felt curiously heavy. This is Thursday, at one o’clock, she thought. The sun is out. People are going into the store with coupons. I don’t have to do this. All I have to do is tell someone, get some help. She saw a man walking nearby, and put her foot on the brake, slowing the car. Then she felt something cold and hard being pushed into her ribs, and the voice said, “I said don’t try anything, remember?”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m not.” She emptied her mind of everything, and drove the six blocks home. When she pulled into her driveway she looked for a neighbor, but saw no one. She got out of the car and watched as the man followed her. He looked around quickly, then flashed her the gun hidden under his jacket. It was black. Funny, Kate thought. I thought guns were silver, like Pete’s cowboy gun. I thought they were silver and kept in jeweled holsters, and would never be serious. She was aware of a vague pain in her stomach, but it seemed to belong to someone else. She felt suspended above herself, a reluctant viewer of her own life.
“Get your groceries and get inside,” the man said. He was young—maybe twenty-five—and good-looking, someone you’d be tempted to pick up hitchhiking. His eyes were light blue, clear, and looked directly at her.
“My groceries?” she asked.
“Yeah, you just got groceries, right?”
“Yes, but … never mind them.”
The man
gestured angrily with the lump in his jacket. “Get them! Why should you let food spoil?”
She got the bags and went into the house. The man closed, then chain-locked the front door. She set the bags on the kitchen table and turned to face him. She had begun to cry.
“What’s the matter?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
“I’m afraid, that’s what!”
“I’m not going to hurt you, okay? This is just a robbery.”
She frowned. “You’re going to rob me?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, why didn’t you come when I wasn’t home?”
“Because I don’t know where anything is.” She stared at him. “Put your frozen things away before they melt.”
She started to laugh, but then reached for one of the bags. She pulled the box of cereal out and put it on the table. The man picked it up. “You feed your children this shit?”
“Not usually.” She put away the frozen foods resentfully. She didn’t want him to see what else she’d bought. When she was finished, he said, “All right, let’s take a little tour.”
They began upstairs. He went into her son’s room and looked around. “Who’s room is this?”
“My son’s.”
“What’s his name?”
“Bobby,” she lied.
“How old is he?”
“Eleven.” She walked over to his bed, straightened the corner of the spread.
“Anything valuable in here?”
She looked at Pete’s Yankees cap, at the postcards on his bulletin board. And then she saw him sitting at his school desk, his hand that was not done growing holding his pencil, and was suddenly furious. “Well, of course there are valuable things in here. Everything is valuable in here! But not to you! You don’t need anything in here! If you want something, take my jewelry!”
The man sighed. “Look at this. You see? You have no self-worth. You just go right ahead and tell me to take your things.” He shook his head. “This is a real problem for women.”
He’s crazy, she thought. He’s crazy and he has a gun. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m a mother. It’s just a mother thing, you know; it’s instinctive to protect your children.”
“Yeah,” he said. “My mother, I don’t think she had that thing.” He pulled open the top dresser drawer. “Seriously, does he have anything valuable?”
She thought for a moment. “No.”
He looked at her. “If I find something, you’ll be real sorry.”
“There’s nothing! Well, he has a coin collection, all right?”
“Is it worth anything?”
“Just a couple hundred dollars.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “Just a couple hundred dollars, huh?” She looked away from him. “Where is it?”
She got the coin collection from the top shelf of the closet and held it out toward him. “Put it in a pillowcase for me,” he said. She went to the linen closet and dug through the pile of pillowcases.
She’d give him an ugly one. She found a floral pattern she’d never liked, put the coin collection in it, and gave it to him. He pulled some black gloves out of his jacket and put them on.
She would be very cooperative, she decided. She wouldn’t offend him. She’d be wooden; she’d get through this. Tonight, she would be in the bathtub, fine, she knew it. The children, unaware of the day’s events, would be in their beds with the clean sheets she’d put on that morning, pink-cheeked and sound asleep. David would be sitting on the lid of the toilet, leaning earnestly toward her, listening to her tell about this very moment. She would have a washcloth lying warm over her chest. David would be very concerned and loving. “Would you like some wine?” he would ask. “Some cocoa? Oh, my poor, brave darling.” The thief would be in jail being eyed by vicious psychopaths twice his size. She felt light-headed and leaned against the door frame. “What’s wrong?” the man asked.
“I think I feel a little faint.”
“Sit down!” he said. “And put your head between your knees.”
Her throat tightened as she slid down onto the floor. “Are you going to shoot me?”
He tsked. “Didn’t I say I wasn’t going to hurt you? What kind of person do you think I am?”
She pressed her knees into her eyes. In a moment, she felt stronger, and stood up. She looked into the man’s face. “Why are you doing this? Don’t you know you can ruin your whole life doing this?” He didn’t move. She sighed, then asked, “Have you ever done this before?”
“No.” His face was full of pain. He was so young. She saw his heart beating in the hollow of his neck. She wasn’t afraid anymore. She was a little tired, in fact.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” she asked.
His face changed. “Let’s go.” He pointed the gun at her. “Now. Show me something worth something.”
“I’ll show you my jewelry,” she said. “You can have that. Really, that’s the only thing that’s worth much.”
She took him to her bedroom and pointed to her jewelry box. While he went through it, she studied his clothes. She would need to remember them when she called the police. He’d probably be easy to catch even without the description. He was obviously inept, some scared kid acting out on a Thursday afternoon in suburbia. Still, she memorized his outfit. He was wearing gray corduroy pants and a black-and-white checked flannel shirt. No belt. Black high-top sneakers. He bought those clothes somewhere, went into a store and was seen as a regular customer. “Have a nice day,” someone told him, and he probably said, “Same to you.” Then he went home and put these clothes on and went out to rob people. She wondered where he lived. She wondered how he knew where she lived. The man held up her pearls, examined them in the light from the window, then threw them back in the box. “You’re not taking those?” she asked. He shook his head no. She watched him for a while, putting her opal brooch, her diamond earrings into the pillowcase. He took her gold watch, her ruby ring, her antique emerald bracelet. Then he closed the box. “What’s wrong with the pearls?” she asked.
“Not a good quality. Not worth much.”
She flushed. “My husband gave me those pearls for my fortieth birthday! They happen to be very high quality!”
The man looked at her sympathetically. “Your husband is cheap,” he said. “But look, if it’ll make you feel better …” He opened the box and threw the pearls in the pillowcase. “There,” he said. “Okay?”
She sniffed. She’d ask David about those pearls. For God’s sake, it was for her fortieth! As the man closed the box again, he saw a corner of paper sticking out from behind the satin lining. He pulled it out. Kate reached for it. “That’s nothing,” she said. “That’s just … personal.”
“Well, let’s see what you’ve got here. Let’s see what’s personal about you.”
“Please,” she said, but he had stepped back from her and was reading aloud from the slip of paper.
“ ‘Asparagus incident,’ ” he said. “ ‘Bad dream. Interruptions. No reception. Onus on me to always come up with ideas.’ ” He looked up, puzzled. “What the hell is this?” Kate looked out the window. “Hey!” he said loudly, and she jumped.
“It is my … divorce list,” she said.
“Your what?”
“It is things I write down in case I ever decide to get a divorce. To justify it.”
He looked at the paper. “The ‘asparagus incident’?”
“Yes, that’s one.”
“What happened?”
“Well, I certainly don’t feel I need to tell you!”
“Oh, please … what’s your name?”
“Jane,” she said.
“Oh, please, Jane. Jane! Your name’s not Jane! Nobody’s name is Jane!”
“Well, mine is.”
“So tell me about the asparagus, Jane.” She was silent. “Tell me or I’ll shoot a hole in your armoire.”
“It’s just to remind me of times when he overlooks my needs, okay? Like once I specifically asked him t
o save the leftover asparagus and he threw it out anyway!”
The man stared at her. “This is grounds for divorce? No wonder the country’s going to hell in a handbasket!”
“No!” She cleared her throat, then lowered her voice. “It’s just that I feel like my opinion doesn’t count, that he always just goes ahead and does what he wants. The asparagus is a symbol.”
“Well, that’s inspired, Jane.” He looked at the list again. “What about ‘bad dream’? What happened there?”
She looked down, spoke quietly. “I had a bad dream, and I cried out in my sleep, and my husband woke up and told me, “Shhhh!” and went back to sleep.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No.”
“You mean that’s all? He didn’t grab you and hold you, ask you what the matter was?”
“No.”
“That is bad.”
She took the list from him. “Please don’t do this anymore. I find this very humiliating. And unnecessary.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want anything else?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, looked as though he were confused. Then he said, “Yeah. Show me the other rooms.” She took him to her daughter’s room, with its teddy bears and Golden Books and pink plastic cup by the bedside, filled with last night’s water. He picked up a picture frame, then put it back down. “Okay,” he said. “Downstairs.”
She showed him the dining room, David’s study. He found nothing he wanted. In the living room, he picked up a shell from the coffee table and put it in the pillowcase. “Why are you taking that?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I like it.”
“Why don’t you find your own damn shell?”
“I want what you picked.”
“What makes you think I picked it?”
“Didn’t you?” She was silent. She would never find another shell like that one.
The parakeet chirped from his cage in the corner and the man walked up to him, whistled softly, and said, “Hello, pretty boy.” The bird fell silent, and Kate was happy. Later, she’d give him lettuce for that, teach him to say, “I’m a hero! I’m a hero!” “Neat!” her children would say. “Archie can say something new!”