I had to assert myself. My husband is a very educated man, but he never talks to me about his work. I know he thinks I'm brainless.
Believe me, I've got a brain. Maybe I'm not a research chemist, but I've got a brain. He ignores me. So I told him to take his umbrella."
"And did he?"
"Oh, sure. He'll do anything to avoid an argument. Because if we argued, that would make us equal, you see. I think he hates me."
"Why do you say that?"
"He brings work home almost every night so he won't have to talk to me."
"What do you want to talk about, Mabel?"
"Dopey little things. Like what the butcher said to me or how Chester is doing in spelling or silly stories in the news.
Anything. But there's no communication. I'll bet he talks to Marleen."
"Who is Marleen?"
"Marleen Todd. She lives next door. She's married to Herman. He sells insurance. They have a little girl, Tania.
She's one year younger than Chester. They take the bus to school together."
"Chester and Tania?"
"Yes. Marleen is a chemist at the lab. Like Greg. She makes perfumes.
Greg drives one week, and then Marleen drives the next. They alternate. So they spend a lot of time together."
Silence.
"I don't believe there's anything going on there, doctor, if that's what you're thinking. Marleen is okay, very pleasant, but she's plain.
No tits, no ass. I'm sure there's nothing going on there. They probably just talk shop.
Besides, Greg isn't really interested in sex."
"Not at all?"
"Only occasionally. Like it's a duty. And if I turn him down, I think he's relieved. Once I gave him a funny birthday card that said, Use it or lose it,' but he didn't think it was funny. He hardly ever laughs.
Herman is always laughing."
"Herman? Marleen's husband?"
"Yes. I think maybe he's got eyes for me."
"Why do you think that?"
"Sometimes, after Greg and Marleen have left for the lab and the kids have gone to school, Herman will stop by for a cup of coffee before he goes to his office."
"Are you attracted to him?"
"He's okay. No matinee idol, you understand, but he knows how to talk to a woman. He seems really interested in what I think and the things I say. You suppose he wants to start something?"
"Mmm.
Silence.
"When Greg and I were dating, I knew he was a serious man.
The other guys I was seeing were mostly studs. One-night stands and so forth.
But Greg was serious. Maybe a little dull, I knew that, but he had a good job and a good future. I figured that after I married him, I could lighten him up. Wrong!
Maybe I shouldn't complain. He makes a nice living, I drive a Buick Roadmaster, and he doesn't say anything about my charge accounts.
A lot of women I know are worse off. But still… Do you think I'm bored? Do you think that's why I'm so depressed all the time? Oh, and I forgot to tell you-he's a heavy drinker."
"Your husband?"
"Oh, God, no. Herman Todd. When he comes over in the morning, it's usually for black coffee and an aspirin for his hangover. He's not happy either. It's Marleen, his wife. She doesn't drink at all. Or smoke. She says it's because of her job with perfumes. Herman is a sport, always kidding around. The Todds came over for dinner last month, and Marleen and Greg kept talking shop. That's all they talked about, and finally Herman said, You know the difference between a vitamin and a hormone? You can't hear a vitamin." They didn't laugh, but I thought it was hilarious. Don't you?
"Mmm.
"Maybe he really does want to start something with me. I know for a fact he plays around. Do you think I should?"
"How do you feel about it?"
"I don't know how I feel. But I've got to do something. My life is empty, empty, empty. I mean there comes a time in every woman's life when she has to ask herself, is this all there is? That's where I'm at right now. I've even thought of getting a divorce. But getting a divorce just because you're bored is stupid, isn't it? And there's Chester to consider, of course."
"What about your husband? What would his reaction be?"
"if I asked for a divorce? He probably wouldn't care one way or the other. Greg doesn't love me."
"Surely he loved you enough to marry you."
"That was then, this is now. Maybe he loved me when he proposed. He said he did. But every Sunday night Greg makes out a list of things to do during the week, Get haircut. Take in dry cleaning. Rotate tires on Volvo. Maybe I was just a note on his list, Marry Mabel. Oh God, I feel so miserable. I think I'm going to cry. May I have a Kleenex?
"Help yourself."
Silence.
"What do you think I should do, doctor? About my life? " "We've just begun. This is our third session correct? I suggest you not make any major changes in your life until we have the opportunity to explore in greater detail exactly what it is that's troubling you. I think our time is up, Mabel."
"So soon? All right, I'll see you next Tuesday. I feel a lot better.
Maybe all I need is someone to talk to."
"Mmm.
I left Dr. Noble's office and walked over to Hashbeam's Boteek, in the same mall. I went in to look around, and Laura, who always waits on me, showed me a new teddy they just got in, black lace cut high on the hips. Very racy.
"It's beautiful," I said, "but when would I ever wear it?
"Put it in your hope chest," Laura said, laughing.
So I bought it. woke up late Thursday morning with a Godzilla of a hangover.
Marleen had left for work, and Tania had gone to school, so I had the house to myself. That was just as well, I didn't want them to see the shape I was in. Although I doubt if they'd have been shocked, they've seen me before when I've had the meemies.
I drank about a quart of water, showered, and used my electric shaver with a trembling hand. Then I dressed and went next door to bum aspirin and black coffee from Mabel Barrow. (I've never figured out how to work that Italian coffee-maker my wife bought.) But Mabel wasn't home, so I had no choice but to drive to my office in the Town Center Circle.
Goldie was at her desk in the reception room, took one look at me, and shook her head sorrowfully.
"Save me," I pleaded.
She went down to the Dally-Deli and brought back a big container of black coffee and a prune Danish. Goldie is a sweet kid-great boobs-and I'd make a play there, but she's married to a police sergeant, and who needs trouble like that?
I gave Goldie the Danish, took the coffee into my private office, shut the door, and locked it. All my salesmen were out on calls, but I didn't want any of them returning unexpectedly, busting in on the boss, and catching him adding a double of California brandy to his morning coffee, which is what I did.
After I got half of it down, I decided I might as well live, lighted a cigar, and started reviewing a million-dollar whole life insurance policy I had recently sold to Marvin McWhortle, who owns the place where Marleen works.
Around eleven o'clock I went out to the reception room and drew a cup of water from the cooler.
"Feeling better?" Goldie asked.
"Ready for a fight or a frolic," I assured her.
Back in my sanctum I added another shot of brandy to the water. That did the trick. I held out my hands, and they were steady enough to do brain surgery. By the time I was ready to leave, about noon, I was in fine fettle-whatever a fettle is. I told Goldie I'd be back in a couple of hours. She nodded, she knew I always had lunch with my brother on Thursday.
I stopped at the Dally-Deli and picked up two humongous corned beef sandwiches on rye, side orders of cole slaw, and an extra order of kosher dills, which Chas dearly loves. I went next to Ye Olde Reserve Fine Spirits amp; Liquors Shoppe (it opened last year) and bought a liter of Jack Daniels. Then I boarded my new Lincoln Towncar and started out.
I took my usual route, south to the Palmetto Park Road, then far west to the Fleecy Road turnoff, then north on Fleecy to a nameless dirt lane, and then west on that. Way back in the boondocks on five acres of what used to be hardscrabble farmland is where my brother lives and works. He calls it a studio, I call it a barn.