She cocked her head on one side and tried to push the file folder out of her mind by going over the bad points — the mouth that was too wide, and the eyebrows and lashes, borrowing from the hair, which were too indistinct and caused that funny naked look around the eyes. And, of course, the legs were good, and that made up a little for there not being enough in the bosom department.
Instability. That was a funny word to use. Of course there had been that darned word “elfin” and the boy who had brought her to the dance and had said that he had found her under a mushroom. She had fought against that by being very sober and serious, speaking slowly and carefully and not moving too fast and not doing the things she wanted to do for a long time. Then it was too much trouble and the devil with them and their elfin. It was better to say what you thought and do what you wanted to do all the time, although you gave up the chance of glamour and made it an unattainable word.
She saw that the red dress was a poor color for her, but she had known that all along. It was the way the dress felt that made it a pet dress. It was a horizontal rip and the hem dangled almost to her ankles in back.
She bent and ripped the skirt completely around and stepped out of the hoop of cloth. The skirt came above her knees then. She looked at the funny effect and she wanted to laugh, but there wasn’t any laughter. She thought that she could get out her very high heels, wear a tight belt and put bright spots of color on her cheeks in perfect circles, then meet Jamie at the door when he came home and tell him in a Mae West voice that she had decided on a new career.
But she remembered that Jamie had written the sheets in the folder and because he had written them nothing was any good any more.
She pulled off the dress, put on jeans and a T-shirt and pinned up her hair. Jeans made her feel businesslike and pinning up her hair always made it easier to think in an adult way — or the way adults were supposed to think.
Part of her not seeming very grown up probably came from talking when the thoughts came too fast to make the words fit; then some parts were left out and people had a little trouble following her.
She walked through the small house and it seemed most odd the way everything stood out, sharp and clear, making her wonder if people who knew they were going to die found new colors and new sharpness in familiar things. It would be nice if the medical people could invent a pill you take which would wipe out the memory of everything that happened in the hour before you took the pill. Because then there would be no folder — just the number written on the check, which was all you wanted in the first place.
The funny thing was that it was Jamie. He was so dear and familiar. So big and quiet and mild, with those weather wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the smile wrinkles around his mouth.
There were his nice gray eyes with lights in them, the good smell of pipe and leather — all very masculine and all very symbolic of Jamie.
The college course had said that the bedroom angle was a pretty important one in a marriage and she had been afraid for a long time that it wasn’t going to work out just right for her, but she would pretend that it was right. She had thought that there would be tenderness and gentleness, but there wasn’t, and so for a long time there was nothing at all for her.
And finally, because she loved him and because she knew that any difference had to come from her, she had changed.
But she knew that the rightness depended on love and sureness. And now she would be back to nothing again because of the pages of small crabbed writing. Even at night — perhaps most especially at night — it would be impossible to tear her mind free from them.
She wanted to understand him, so she began to wonder if perhaps this were Jamie’s way of getting back at her because of the money. Jamie always thought too much about the money. But, she wondered, what is the point in brooding about something when it is there and when it has been left to you? Jamie, the poor clumsy dear, wouldn’t ever do very well in the money department. He had wanted the car agency, however, so she had bought it for him. Making it a birthday present had been a way to keep it from hurting his pride so that he wouldn’t go into one of those spells where for a week he wouldn’t say anything gay, friendly or loving but would just get so fierce in his love-making that it was like being punished for an unknown wrong.
It didn’t really matter that the agency was losing a little bit of money. She had fixed it with an accountant so that every month she could, without its being too obvious, bring up to the proper level the cash balance in the agency account. Jamie never mentioned it to her, but she knew that he was always gloomy after he looked at the statements. Maybe it hurt the poor dear to have her paying what amounted to a tuition for his business education. Perhaps it made him feel kept and inept.
She was glad that Dads had made certain that she knew how to handle money. When Jamie had wanted to take it over right after they were married, she had asked him a few things and found that he didn’t know the difference between a debenture and a contingency reserve. Perhaps it would have been better to let Jamie handle the money and take the necessary losses. But that would have been a form of disloyalty to Dads, who had been so careful about it all and who, before he died, had been so glad that he was leaving things in such good order.
But in one horrible still place in her mind, she knew that even if Jamie had handled the money he still would have written all of those pages.
It was odd to think you knew everything about somebody and then suddenly to wonder if you knew anything at all. Supposedly he had told her everything. About the home and about being on the road and about being a cowhand, a short-order cook, a racing-car driver. Then there was the war, and they made him a lieutenant on Saipan.
The boys she had considered before him seemed so horribly young and so delicate compared to Jamie. Jamie had white scars on his knuckles and he had managed, without schooling, to plug his way through so many books that he knew words even she didn’t know, that they hadn’t taught her at Wellesley.
He had picked the little town for them because he didn’t want to be around a lot of people who knew about the money. And besides, he never had liked her friends, which was understandable although you did seem sort of cut off when he didn’t want you even to write to them.
Naturally, owning the agency, Jamie Lowndes had become a member of the Rotary. He also worked on the Red Cross drive and Community Chest, and he was on two committees at the Chamber of Commerce. And it was dangerous to kid him too much about “Babbitting” around because he would go silent the moment you did.
She stiffened a little as she heard the popping of the gravel, the thud of the car door shutting and Jamie’s strong step.
Adjusting her smile, she met him at the kitchen door. She expected to view him in a new way, as she would a stranger, but he seemed very much the same Jamie. He rumpled her hair, kissed her alongside her nose and said, “Hi, Runt!”
“Hold me tight, Jamie,” she said.
His arms were strong around her, and with her ear against his chest she could hear his heart.
“A good day, darling?” she asked.
He released her. “So-so. I’m going to fire Harris. I can’t stand his damned superior attitude.”
“Doesn’t he know the business?”
“So do a lot of other people. Including me, angel.”
He went on into the bedroom. She took the chops from the refrigerator, unwrapped them and put them ready to broil. She heard the distant roar of the shower. She put out the shaker, the ice and the bottles ready for Jamie to mix the cocktails.