Should she try to make Phyllis see? There were so few really good marriages in the world, and it was a terrible pity to see one sacrificed on an altar as unworthy as Bobby Bryant.
“Phyllis, let me ask you something—what if you had to choose between Bobby and Chet?"
“Jane! What a terrible thing to think of. Why would I have to choose?"
“I don't know, but suppose you did."
“Why, I'd stay with Bobby, of course. As much as I love Chet, Bobby needs me more. Aman can have many wives, but a boy only has one mother. You know that. You wouldn't abandon your children for anybody."
“But my children are young. Bobby's an adult, and he's managed without you all these years," Jane said, knowing she might as well try to reason with a geranium.
“He's still my baby. My only baby—" Phyllis said, making another dash for the bathroom.
I can't do her any good, Jane thought with a sense of sadness so profound it brought tears to her eyes.
Seven
The phone rang, cutting the conversation '. short. Jane picked it up with relief. Even somebody trying to sell her bronzed baby shoes would be a welcome break. But it wasn't a salesman, it was Fiona Howard.
“Jane, I hate to disturb you, but I have a bit of a problem. I didn't realize that Albert had scheduled the exterminators to come this afternoon, and I'm worried about any food that might be in some of these bazaar boxes. I know about the gingerbread men and the hard candies, but several people have dropped things off since you were by here this morning, and some of the cartons appear to have different things in them. I'm afraid there could be something in the bottom of one that we might be poisoning. I know Shelley isn't available to help, but I want to have all the food items safely out of the house before they start spraying—"
“I'll run over and see if I can figure out what's what," Jane offered. Phyllis had come out of the bathroom again and seemed to have a grip on herself. She was puttering around, cleaning off the kitchen table.
“I hate asking you when you have company," Fiona was saying. "I tried to ring Shelley first, just in case she'd changed her plans, but there's no answer at her house. Do bring your friend along, and I'll make us a lovely tea. No, I guess I can't even do that with the bug people here."
“We'd love to come, tea or not. We could all go out for Cokes at McDonald's.”
She hung up and told Phyllis. "I've got to run over to a neighbor's house to take care of a crisis with the church craft bazaar. You don't need to come along if you'd rather rest, but I'd be glad to have you. We can talk more about this later," she added, knowing there was little else she could say.
“Jane, we don't need to talk about me anymore. I just felt I owed it to you to explain. You have problems enough, I'm sure, without mine. I'd love to help if I can," she said. The way her face lit up, it was obvious that she was sincere. As she mopped her eyes a final time, she said, "Chet's so sweet and generous, and I don't ever mean to sound ungrateful, but if there's anything I've missed all these years, it's that sort of thing—church bazaars, other women who like crafts and things. Of course, a lot of real artists used to come to the island, but they weren't interested in things like Christmas ornaments and knitting and Easter egg decorations.”
Jane had sudden vision of Phyllis fluttering around a modern-day Picasso, trying to interest him in styrofoam wreaths.
“I read about this wonderful thing you do with Easter eggs that makes them look batiked. I'm dying to try it," Phyllis went on.
“I tnink Fiona does that. You can ask her about it."
“This Fiona isn't Fiona Howard, is she?”
“Why, yes. Do you know her?"
“No, but we know some people who know her, and they mentioned once that she lived in the same suburb as you do. You can't have many neighbors named Fiona. Such a pretty name."
“Then you must know who she is—"
“Richie Divine's widow. Yes. That was so terrible the way the newspapers and magazines were so mean to her when she got married again. I'd like to meet her, and I really want to help with your bazaar." As she spoke, she was putting the leftover food in the refrigerator.
Jane suddenly felt a great wave of guilt for not liking her better. Silly as Phyllis might be, she was also very sweet and down-to-earth. There was something innately good about a woman who probably hadn't so much as lifted a dirty dish in fifteen years, but who pitched right in, clearing the table without a second's hesitation. There were good reasons Chet Wagner had stuck with her for so long. If only Phyllis could see the one excellent reason he got fed up.
Jane was quiet all the way to Fiona's house, mentally chastising herself. Wasn't part of the reason she got irritated with Phyllis a matter of simple jealousy? She'd mentally accused John Wagner of being jealous over money, but maybe she was, too. After all, Phyllis was an extraordinarily wealthy woman. Jane, who wasn't exactly poor, still had to carefully monitor every penny.
Steve's life insurance and his share of the family-owned drugstores had left her with enough money to comfortably afford the necessities and a precious few of the less expensive luxuries. But while Phyllis was ordering up a Jag for Bobby to drive around without even needing to ask what it cost, Jane was driving a four-year-old station wagon and would have to drive it to death—either its or hers.
Was it Phyllis's money that was getting under Jane's skin? Jane thought not. Lots of people had more money than Jane did. Almost everyone she knew, in fact, either had more or lived as though they did. And she'd never been particularly aware of resentment before. Fiona Howard, for instance, was certainly in a financial class with Phyllis. She must have been her husband's heir, and Richie Divine records were still played on the radio all the time. Just last summer Jane had bought a tape of his old stuff. They hadn't had children, so all the royalties must be going to Fiona. And yet, Jane had never felt jealous of Fiona, only mildly curious about how she lived.
For that matter, the Nowacks were absolutely loaded, but she never felt jealous of Shelley. Shelley's husband had started and owned a nationwide Greek fast-food franchise that was nearly as common nationally as any of the hamburger or pizza places. But Shelley still bought her sneakers at K Mart and saved grocery store coupons and was always complaining about telephone bills. Of course, if Shelley had been renting a car, as Phyllis did a short time ago, Shelley would have found out the price of everything on the lot and would have demanded a discount if the tires had more than a thousand miles on them.
No, it wasn't a matter of money or lack of it. It was a basic difference in mentality or outlook or something that made Phyllis rub Jane the wrong way. No point in analyzing it, Jane told herself as she steered the old station wagon into the Howards' hedge-lined drive. Phyllis and her hideous son would be out of her life pretty soon, and she wouldn't need to worry about it. In a day or two, she'd just have to tell Phyllis in the nicest way possible that they were going to have to move into a hotel. And if she couldn't find a nice way—well, she'd worry about that later.
Fiona met them in the driveway. "Jane, I've been calling, but I missed you. I'm so sorry I put you to this trouble. Just after we hung up, the exterminators called and said their truck broke down, and they won't be here until tomorrow. I've dragged you out for nothing."