Wifey

  “Yes, we bought it from Norman’s mother after his father died.”

  “Oh. Because I was going to say if it was your final house then I could understand your reluctance to leave it, but with your first house . . .”

  “It’s very nice,” Sandy said, feeling defensive about Enid’s house for the first time. “It’s in Sleepy Hollow.”

  “But the schools . . .”

  “The children go to private school.”

  “In Watchung you could send them to public school. We have only two black families in the town and both of them are professional.”

  “It’s really not a racial thing,” Brown said, joining them. Brown’s nails were filed to squares instead of points and polished in frosty brown, to match her frosty brown eye shadow, her frosty brown hair, her frosty brown suntan, her frosty brown dress. “It’s more of a socioeconomic thing, don’t you think?”

  “Yes and no,” Funky said. “Yes, in the sense that the professional ones tend to think more like us and want what’s best for their children. No, in the sense that they’re still different no matter how hard you try to pretend they’re not. I mean, put one in this room, right now, and suddenly we’d all clam up.” She took a cheese puff from the tray offered by Elena, the black maid. “Thank you.”

  Sandy was trying to sort out the men. Ben was the urologist with the vasectomy button on his collar. Had he performed his own vasectomy? No, how could he see over that belly? It might be nice if Norman had a vasectomy. Sandy hated her diaphragm. It was so messy. And the Pill made her sick. She’d have to approach the subject carefully, though, because Norm was very sensitive about his genitals.

  Mickey had a lot of hair and some kind of engineering company. Then there was Gish. He practiced law in Newark, specialized in personal injury work and was, according to Myra, cleaning up. He and Brown were neighbors of Myra’s in Short Hills. Sandy didn’t like the way he looked her up and down every time she crossed the room. It made her uncomfortable.

  So much for the men.

  “Your husband,” Luscious said, settling next to Sandy on the sofa, “is such a tiger! That serve . . . what a smash! I told him, don’t let up on me just because I’m a girl, and he didn’t . . . aced me every time . . . you must be really proud of him . . .” Luscious, tiny, blonde, and perfect, looked like an aging Barbie Doll.

  “Yes,” Sandy answered.

  “And his backhand is nothing to sneeze at,” Brown said, sitting on Sandy’s other side. “Wicked, absolutely wicked!”

  “He really enjoys his games,” Sandy told them.

  “It’s not just a question of enjoy,” Funky added, leaning over the back of the sofa so that Sandy could feel her breath on her neck. “It’s talent. Pure, unadulterated talent.”

  Pure, unadulterated bullshit, Sandy thought, wishing she were brave enough to say it out loud.

  “I should be so lucky!” Brown said, laughing down her vodka and orange juice.

  “Normie . . . tiger . . .” Luscious called across the room to where the men had gathered. “Will you play with me tomorrow . . . singles . . . for just a little while?”

  “Sure thing,” Norman called back. “Let’s say, from three-thirty to three forty-five.”

  And later, after dessert, while they were sitting around sipping brandy, Ben said to Norman, “You should join The Club.”

  “I’ve been telling him that all week,” Myra said.

  “And I’ve been thinking about it,” Norman said.

  That was certainly news to Sandy.

  “It makes a lot of sense,” Norman said.

  Gish, who was seated next to Sandy on the small sofa, turned to her and said, “What do you think?”

  “What . . . oh, me?” Sandy asked, surprised to find herself in the conversation. “Well, I’m not an athlete so it’s hard for me to say if we should invest that much in The Club.”

  “But Sandy,” Myra said, “it’s more than a club . . . it’s a way of life . . . it’s not just golf and tennis . . . you’d make wonderful friends . . . look at us . . .” She smiled and extended her arms.

  “And your children will meet the right kinds of young people too,” Funky said.

  “Playing those public courses is a waste of time,” Ben told Norman. “How long do you have to wait to tee off on weekends?”

  “I get up at six so I usually don’t have to wait.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather sleep till nine?” Funky asked.

  “I’m not a late sleeper,” Norman said.

  “So, you’d have time for a quickie,” Ben said.

  “We just love our Sunday-morning quickies,” Luscious told them all.

  Gish put his arm around Sandy’s shoulder and whispered, “I’d like to make it with you, quick or slow, your choice.”

  “And Sandy,” Brown said, “once you take lessons you’ll love it like everybody else. We’re not all born athletes like your husband.”

  “I’ll bet you don’t need any lessons in the sack,” Gish whispered.

  “And on Thanksgiving and Mother’s Day and all the other holidays you’ll always have a nice place to go,” Funky said.

  “And The Club does a terrific job on affairs,” Brown said.

  Affairs? Sandy thought.

  Myra stood up. “I think I have a Club booklet somewhere.” She went into her bedroom and returned with it. Green Hollow Country Club. Rules and Regulations. “Read this, San, it’ll give you a better idea.”

  “Thanks.” Sandy stood up too. “It’s been very nice,” she said, “I hope you’ll excuse me . . . I’m really tired . . .” She looked across the room, at Norman.

  “Sandy’s recuperating, you know,” Myra said. “She’s been quite sick. Take care, San. Get a good night’s sleep.”

  “I’ll be in soon,” Norman told her.

  “Yes, see you all tomorrow.”

  Sandy got into bed with the green booklet. Had Gish been serious? No, it was just a joke. She opened the booklet. There were General Rules, Golf Course Rules, Tee Off Procedures, Club House Rules, Guest Rules, Tennis Regulations, Pool Regulations, Rules Pertaining to Children on the Premises, Rules Pertaining to Restaurant Minimums, and Rules Pertaining to Sons of Members Who Wished to Caddy.

  Suppose Gish had been serious? He was attractive.

  No, it was out of the question. He’d just been kidding around. Flirting, but not seriously.

  There were Lessons For All, including but not limited to Private Tennis Instruction (by the hour or half-hour), Golf (by the hour or half-hour), Playing Lessons (nine holes or eighteen), Having the Pro Play in Your Foursome . . .

  Sandy dozed off, the bedroom light still on.

  6

  TWO DAYS LATER Sandy, Myra, and the twins were having their lunch on the patio. “It’s just wonderful to be able to share your vacation with your family,” Myra said, squeezing Sandy’s hand in a sudden burst of enthusiasm. “You’re looking so much better, San. How do you feel?”

  “Stronger . . . healthier . . . I always feel good with a tan.”

  Myra inhaled deeply and stretched. “I can’t think of any place on earth I’d rather be.”

  “Well, I can!” Kate said. “And I’d also like to know why we can’t ever have anything besides blended salad for lunch?”

  “Because blended salad is good for you,” Myra said. It was her latest kick in fad foods. She bought romaine lettuce by the crate. Sandy found it hard to take herself, but instead of complaining she just waited until the others left for their afternoon activities, then made herself a peanut butter sandwich.

  “Green mush!” Kate moved it around on her plate.

  “Seaweed!” Connie added. “And Bucky and Jen are in the kitchen eating hamburgers and fried bananas, is that fair?”

  “Bucky a
nd Jen are little children,” Myra told them, “but you are young women and need to watch your weight.”

  “Bullshit!” Kate said, pushing back her chair.

  “I thought I told you to watch your language,” Myra said, clenching her teeth.

  “Oh, come off it, Mother. Aunt Sandy knows we’re human. Let’s go, Con.” She and Connie got up and stalked off.

  Myra tried to laugh it off. “Just wait until Bucky and Jen reach adolescence.” She sipped her mint iced tea. “It isn’t easy.” She flicked her hair back. “Did I tell you I made appointments for them with Dr. Saphire?”

  Dr. Saphire had performed Myra’s breast reduction surgery.

  “No, aren’t they too young?”

  “Nose jobs . . . not the other . . . not yet . . .”

  “Oh, I didn’t know he did those.”

  “Yes, he’s the best in the business.”

  “When are they going in?”

  “Early July.”

  She nodded. She was always surprised that Myra had produced such unattractive children. It must be hard on them, having a gorgeous perfectly groomed mother, like Myra, Sandy thought. But no matter how hard she tried to like them, to find some redeeming feature, she couldn’t. It was so unpleasant being around them. Bucky and Jen felt it too. Just that morning Jen had said, “I hate Connie and Kate, don’t you?”

  Bucky answered, “I hate Kate. Connie’s just dumb.”

  “I don’t want to hear you talking about your cousins that way,” Sandy had said.

  “Why not? It’s true,” Bucky told her.

  “Yeah,” Jen said, “they never laugh or have any fun and they’re so ugly.”

  “But they sure do have huge tits,” Bucky said.

  “Will mine grow like that, Mommy?” Jen asked.

  “I doubt it,” Sandy told her. “You’re small-boned, like me. The twins are built more like Aunt Lottie.”

  “I hope mine grow bigger than yours,” Jen said. “Yours are so little.”

  “Big breasts aren’t everything,” Sandy said.

  “Yeah, I’m an ass man myself,” Bucky said. “Like Dad.”

  “Like Dad?” Sandy asked.

  “Yeah, he told me the other day when we saw Aunt Myra’s ass.”

  “Bucky!”

  “Well, we did and it wasn’t our fault either. She was standing there talking on the phone and it was sticking out for everybody to see.”

  “You should have looked the other way,” Sandy said.

  “Dad didn’t.”

  Norman, an ass man? He’d never told her that, but she should have guessed, given his fascination with the product of that part of the body.

  BUCKY AND JEN were not happy that afternoon, when Connie and Kate piled into the car with them. They poked each other and whispered but Sandy was determined to make it a pleasant outing.

  “Now remember, Mom,” Bucky said, “you drive on the left here.”

  “I know, I know.”

  It was a short ride down the hill to the small, private, homeowners’ beach which was adjacent to the long beach belonging to the Runaway Bay Hotel. Often, Sandy and her children were the only ones there. The other homeowners and tenants had their own swimming pools, like Myra, and spent most of their time playing golf or tennis anyway. Norman hated the beach. “All that sand,” he’d say. “It gets up my ass and between my toes . . . who needs it?” But Sandy loved the beach. The warm sand, the endless blue-green sea, the salty air. “Isn’t the water beautiful down here?” she asked the twins.

  “It’s all right,” Connie said.

  More than their looks, it was Connie and Kate’s apathy, their lifelessness, that bothered Sandy. The twins took off their beach shirts, revealing bikinis. Their loose flesh hung around their middles and poured out from their bikini bottoms. They weren’t fair-skinned like Sandy and Myra. They were more like Gordon’s family. Gordon had olive skin and tanned deeply, changing his looks. Otherwise, during the winter months, Gordon appeared to have faintly green skin. He was balding and combed his remaining hair carefully across his head. His eyes were deep-set and his cheeks becoming jowly, but he still had a hard, compact body, although at just under five five, Myra dwarfed him.

  How lucky Sandy was to have Bucky and Jen. Lovely little Jen, small and delicate with wispy hair and an almost constant smile. And Bucky, growing up to look like Norman, with a square body and almost no neck, set on broad shoulders. But Bucky would be warmer than Norman, warmer and kinder and unafraid of his feelings.

  Jen ran off to hunt for shells and Sandy settled down for her afternoon nap. Just as she was dozing off, Kate screamed. Sandy jumped up and ran to her. “What is it?”

  “My belly . . . my belly . . .”

  Appendicitis? Would she be able to find Myra or Gordon? Oh, Jesus, she should have left them home. They were nothing but trouble.

  “He burned it! It’s killing me.”

  “Burned it . . . who . . . what?”

  “Bucky! With his fucking magnifying glass.”

  “What? He did what?” Sandy looked over at him. He was sitting under a palm tree, holding his magnifying glass, a sheepish look on his face.

  “I didn’t know it would happen so fast,” Bucky said. “It takes a long time for leaves to burn.”

  “I’m not a leaf, you fucking imbecile!”

  “Okay, okay,” Sandy said, “let’s calm down now. Bucky, apologize to Kate and give me your magnifying glass.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, and now.”

  He handed her his magnifying glass. “Can I have it back tomorrow?”

  “No.”

  “Day after?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “When?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “You always say that!”

  “Apologize to Kate, please.”

  “Oh, Mom.”

  “We’re waiting, Bucky.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t think he really means it, Aunt Sandy.”

  “I do so,” Bucky said.

  “I’m sure he does,” Sandy told Kate.

  “What happened?” Jen asked, racing back, her Baggie filled with shells.

  “Bucky burned Kate with his magnifying glass,” Connie said. “Look at that red mark on her belly.”

  Jen examined Kate’s belly and held back a laugh.

  “It hurt like hell,” Kate told her. “I thought a snake bit me, or something.”

  “They don’t have snakes on the beach,” Bucky said.

  “The hell they don’t.”

  “Do they, Mom?”

  “I really don’t know.” Sandy rummaged through her beach bag. “Look, why don’t the four of you go over to the hotel and have a drink. Here’s five dollars. You can bring me the change.”

  “Five won’t buy us all drinks,” Kate said, “not down here.”

  “Oh, I suppose you’re right,” Sandy said, fishing out another five. “Take ten then and bring back the change.”

  “They’re having crab races this afternoon,” Jen said. “I love crab races. Please, please, can we go?”

  “Oh, all right . . . I suppose it can’t hurt.”

  “Thank you, thank you.” Jen jumped up and down and planted a kiss on Sandy’s cheek. “You’re the best mother that ever was.”

  Sandy laughed. “Go on, have a good time.”

  She watched as they ran down the beach, Bucky and Jen out front, Kate and Connie behind them. Then she made a pillow out of two beach towels, settled back on her blanket, and closed her eyes, her face lifted to the sun. Ah, the hot sunshine. It felt so good. She began to drift off . . . the sun hot on her face, her belly, her legs. Hot between her legs. Yes, good an
d hot . . . so nice . . . so long since she’d had that feeling . . . since before she’d been sick. Norman hadn’t . . . that is, they hadn’t fucked since before. He wanted to, she knew, but she told him she was still too weak. Nice to know it was still working, that the cortisone hadn’t affected her that way. She opened her legs a bit more, letting the hot sun warm her there, warming her all over . . . on her nipples . . . erect now . . . she ran her hand across her belly . . . fuck me . . . fuck me, sunshine . . . so delicious, as it crept up her legs, to her thighs, to her cunt . . . kiss me there . . . lick me . . . oh, please . . . oh, hurry . . . She pictured the beachboy, the one at the hotel who set up lounge chairs and handed out towels. A beautiful boy, with white blond hair and deeply tanned skin. A beautiful body too. She could see every muscle in his back. Strong arms. And a line of pale fur extending from his navel to the top of his bathing trunks . . . and beyond? Yes, probably beyond. She could see the outline of his cock, of his balls, through his tight little Speedo suit. Every time she passed him, as she walked along the beach with the children, every time she looked, although she promised herself she wouldn’t anymore . . . she saw his bulge. How nice it would be to feel him against her. If he walked by right now, she would say, Lie on me, and he would, rubbing against her. Rubbing, rubbing, but not putting it inside her. It would be exciting enough that way, just rubbing on the outside of her suit, the way Shep used to do because she’d told him, I can’t Shep . . . I promised my mother . . . I can’t do it . . . not all the way . . . but we can do this . . . and this . . . yes, Shep, yes . . . I can feel you through my clothes . . . can you feel me? Yes, I can come this way. I’m coming, Shep . . . oh, God . . . I’m coming . . . now now now . . .

  “I think I love you.”

  Sandy opened her eyes and sat up. A middle-aged man in madras bathing trunks was sitting opposite her, drawing in the sand with a stick. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Sandy asked, rearranging her bathing suit, hoping she hadn’t been squirming, that the man had no idea what she’d been thinking.

  “I said I think I love you.”

  Sandy jumped up, gathered her things in a hurry, and took off, running down the beach.