"What the Hell?" Adam had never seen so much food in the house. Usually he cautioned his wife against getting too much at a time since they weren't generally big eaters and he was often away anyway. She'd always shown good judgment about such matters before. But what had gotten into her now?
Puzzled, Adam closed the refrigerator door after taking out a Stouffer's frozen chicken in wine sauce. He turned on the oven and put the light aluminum package in. Then he went through all the rooms looking for his wife, but she was nowhere to be found. Returning to his study, Adam sat down to wait for the frozen dinner to be ready, and for Helen to return.
When finally he heard a click in the lock, Adam could feel a definite change in his attitude toward his wife. "Where has she been!" he wondered, perhaps for the first time.
He stood up from his desk and went out to the hall. Helen was trying to close the door behind her and was having difficulty due to her many packages. She had already put the flowers down on the hall table and was pushing the door dosed with her foot while clasping the bakery items and the magazines.
"Helen!"
Surprised, she looked up to see that her husband was standing watching her with a mixture of curiosity and something else she could not quite read.
"Yes?" the young wife said calmly, composing herself enough to remember just how she wanted to treat her husband. She busily gathered up the flowers and made her way into the living room with them. Then she took the bakery packages into the kitchen. She'd gotten some of that wonderful German butter cake, and some coconut cream pie.
Helen was aware of the fact that her husband was following her from room to room, and she tried to act as if she were completely unaware of his presence.
It wasn't until she had taken off the short little jacket that turned her new dress into a two-piece suit and had begun to arrange the tulips and roses she'd bought at the corner in vases that Adam hit the ceiling.
"What is that dress you're wearing?" he screamed, noting that his wife's lushly swaying breasts almost fell out as she bent over a vase. "And those shoes?" he was seeing them for the first time. "Good God, you look like something from outer space!" he cried, his face turning purplish with rage. "And what is all this crap around? All that junk in the ice-box?"
"Refrigerator!" Helen correctly, coldly, even though she could feel her eyes beginning to mist up and her hands beginning to shake as she finished her arrangement of flowers. "Ice-box is so old fashioned!"
"Have you gone crazy? What about the money? I'm not a millionaire you know!"
"I'm getting a job. I'll pay for everything myself," Helen said, her lower lip trembling. She left the living room hurriedly, and Adam followed close on her heels.
"Stop moving! Stop and talk to me!" he cried, waving his arms about.
"Why should I stop moving? Why should I talk to you when you never talk to me?" Helen said, tight-lipped. And she kept on moving, going to the dresser, sitting down, easing off her shoes, which caused her feet to ache a bit.
"All you do is hurt me!" she declared with a finality that left Adam speechless. Wordlessly, he turned and left the room. A smell of burning chicken filled the apartment. Furious with Helen and with himself, Adam rushed into the kitchen and turned off the stove. Then he got his coat and hat and stormed angrily out of the house.
All the way uptown on the subway, Adam thought about his wife's phrase, "All you do is hurt me…!" But he couldn't say just why the accusing words made such an impact on him, why they made his normally ordered mind stop working and his heart start to beating wildly.
The pillow case was soaked with tears as Helen lifted her head. Her eyes were so swollen that she could hardly see. She rose and went to the bathroom to put a cold washcloth over them. Crying was making her sick inside. Adam had gone and would not be back that night, she knew. Guilt permeated her like the sick feeling of all that crying. The true proportions of her shameful actions came to her in a new light. She'd been unfaithful! She'd answered an ad and gone to a perfect stranger's apartment where she'd allowed him to perform a terribly lewd act upon her. Oh God, she'd even willingly spread her legs and loved every obscene second of it as he licked her to orgasm!
Helen writhed upon the bed as though she were in actual pain.
Oh my God, how could I have ever? How could I think that such a thing would solve my problems!
"Oh Adam, how can you ever forgive me?" Helen wailed on into the night, until, around 3:00AM she called Stan Bederbeck's number and hysterically instructed his answering service to get the message to him that she had to have help and fast!
It was almost 6:00AM before Stan hung up the phone beside the bed he shared with his wife at the ski resort.
"Whew!" The psychiatrist slumped down in the bed, sensing that his wife was still awake beside him. Although she was absolutely motionless he knew that he was in double trouble. His wife was going to give him a hard time because Helen had given him a hard time on the telephone. Not for the first time, Stan considered going into some other business. Well, at least he'd managed to calm Helen Randolph down. But he wasn't at all sure that the advice he'd given her had been correct. Perhaps he'd just told her that to get her off the phone so he could go back to sleep. On the other hand, he might have said the same thing under other circumstances. He wasn't sure.
"A hair of the dog, Helen," he'd said. "Go out and give yourself something to really feel guilty about. Then you'll know what real guilt is! Then we can deal with it on its own terms."
Stan turned out the light and snuggled up to his wife. He wasn't at all surprised when she moved a little bit farther away from him. He sighed and went back to sleep.
The next afternoon Helen was feeling a bit better. She'd slept some, and somehow the conversation with the psychiatrist had seemed to sort her feelings out. She knew just what she would do today. Adam had not returned at all, and in the bright light of day this one face seemed unforgivable. She would, just as Stan had suggested, come to terms with her own guilt! Helen began by dialing the number she'd found in the newspaper. It was a bit forward to call, but seeing Andre again might straighten her out, bring back the confidence she'd felt for so brief a time!
Wearing her yellow culotte nightgown, the disturbed blonde wife sat at the edge of her bed and dialed. To her surprise, the first ring was interrupted by a recording. "I'm sorry, but the number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you wish more information, kindly remain on the line and an operator will help you." Helen was shaking by the time an operator came on. "Why is this number out of service?" she inquired, the familiar tears returning.
"Don't know. Just a moment. Oh, yes. I see."
"What? What do you see?" Helen felt hysteria mounting again.
"The number has been changed."
"Oh what's the new number?" Helen felt momentarily relieved.
"I'm sorry it's an unlisted number, and we are not allowed to give it out."
"NO!" Helen slammed down the telephone. "Now get hold of yourself!" she said out loud as she ran into the bathroom, trying to stave off her feelings of utter helplessness, of utter futility by running cold water and splashing it onto her face. Since that worked out so well, why not answer another ad? she thought. Hurriedly getting dressed, Helen went outside to the newspaper stand at the far corner near the bus-stop. Morty sold everything from the Times, to the more adventuresome papers. Helen didn't care that Morty seemed amused when she bought the underground paper. She felt that she no longer cared what anyone thought of her. Her life was her own, and somehow she had to salvage it!