Ed Lacy - Breathe No More My Lady

“New York's claim to summer fame. Perhaps we'll try Jones Beach this weekend.”

“And roast again on the bumper-to-bumper ride back? Norm-man (she always said my full name when she had something important to tell me), one of the teachers at school, Edith—you remember seeing her, the plump one— well, she has recently inherited a small house in Connecticut. A quite wonderful old stone house with enough land. Also but a short ride from the ocean, the Sound.”

“Honey,” I asked, playing with her fingers, “who wants to move in the Westport social swindle? At least, who wants to now? That's big money.”

“This is near Stamford and only a small ride, even by train, from New York City. Edith has no use for the house and will sell it for a modest price, to us. $6000, with $1000 down. Perhaps it will cost another thousand to fix it up, although it is not badly in need of repairs.”

“Look, all these ancient handy man specials are falling apart and need—”

“Not this house. I have seen it.” I opened my eyes wide. “When? You never told me.”

“Edith drove me up there this afternoon. It is a charming place with its own trees and dirt road. Very private. She could get much more from a real estate man, but being a friend, she is glad to let us have it for the... how you say... the assessed value. Norm-man, I seriously think we should buy it. We take $2000 from our bank, and for the rest we will need to pay only $50 a month.”

“Honey, it will cost us a lot more than that. Furniture alone is at least another grand. What would we do with a house?”

“Live there in the summer, maybe all the time if it turns out well. After this year I do not plan to teach summer school. Darling, we would have cool air, our own orchards. We would swim every afternoon when you came home. And even in the mornings, too. We would buy a little boat. I love to fish. If we decide to live up there all year, we can give up this apartment and be saving money. Norm-man, I think we should buy it, really.”

“Well...” I sat up. “Hey, you didn't put a deposit down?”

“Of course no, not without consulting you. However, I said we would drive up to see it Saturday.”

“Look, I want a country house, too, but not sow. For the same reason we didn't buy a new car. Another few—”

“I didn't want a new car. Our auto works fine.”

“Okay, but I did. Another year or so and I'll be ready to make my move. By then Frank Kuhn may be a vice president, grease the way for me. You know our plans, why I can't be bogged down.”

She walked across the room to light a cigarette, although I had my lighter on the floor beside me. “Those are your plans. You have a respectable job, the pay is sufficient. It's secure. Jay was there for 32 years.”

“Would you want me to stay at Longson's for 32 years?”

“You could do worse.”

“Sweet, it isn't a question of doing worse but of hitting the upper brackets. I'm lucky. I have a chance at the big money if I play it smart. But I have to be ready to take the jump when the opportunity is ripe. And 'ready' means as few responsibilities, money worries, as possible. Especially with a recession in the wind. I've told you that and—”

“Yes, you have told me, over and over. We have been married seven years but you keep putting off having a baby, a family.”

“Oh, now, it's far too hot a night to start that.”

“If I can not talk with my husband about a family who should I speak to?”

“For—hell, don't be corny,” I said, getting up.

Moving backwards she said quickly, “Just stay where you are and talk. Norm, I want this settled tonight, but not with kisses and big talk.”

“I suggest we discuss it on a cooler night.”

“No.”

“Okay, but don't start crying.”

“I am not near tears.”

“Honey, we're still young. And the way you talk somebody would think we were having a rugged time, starving in a slum. If you want to give up your job, that's fine with me. All I ask is that you wait a—”

“There is no 'somebody' here, only myself and my hatband. We are living very comfortably. I like very much to keep living like this, but with our children.”

“I want kids, too. That's why I want to give them all the advantages of—”

“90% of the world's children would be more than happy with what we can give a child now. Norm-man, seven years! For seven years I have been wanting your children.”

“How about letting me finish a sentence, if you don't mind,” I said sharply. “And stop taking the children bit so big. You're not 25 yet, we've plenty of time. Look, Michele, this isn't Europe or France. This is America. To you I may seem a howling success but in the advertising world my salary is peanuts. I work for a publisher, not an agency. I'm not a pusher, a success chaser, but it happens I do face an opportunity, that I have some connections and I am the youngest ad manager in the business. I'd be stupid not to capitalize on this. You want me to stand still because you don't realize—”

“Stand still? I only want to further our happiness!”

“How? Listen, by comparison to what you were brought up on we may seem to be riding in the lap of plenty. But over here it's—”

“Merde!” Michele said, fighting back tears.

“What?” I mumbled, slightly shocked.

“Merde!”

“Isn't this dandy! If tears don't work, then change the act and start chattering in French!” I said sarcastically.

“It sounds better in your English? Dung! Crap!” she screamed.

“Aw, honey—”

“Or you rather that other expression I hear over here all the time, bull merde! Translation—”

“Damn it, Michele, take it easy. What the devil are you screaming about? A lousy old house isn't worth all this. Relax, damn it, relax!”

“Norm-man, you say take it easy,” she wailed as the tears came. “Does anyone know how to relax here in America? We can't have a baby until you are a rich man. We can't enjoy the country, can't do this and that! Oh, yes, yes, people live very well here, indeed. We have many shoes and clothing here, we have hot water, cars, refrigerators, TV and clock that awaken us with radio music. We live very... what you call... high. Oh, very high. So what will you do with more income, buy two TV sets, a larger ice machine? Is that what our children must wait for?”

“Hon, what is this? Now you're being silly,” I said gently, worried because I'd never seen her this upset before.

“Silly? You laugh at me because I say my prayers every night. And that is why I say them in French. Do you know, or care, what I thank God for each night? I thank Him that my husband makes a good living without strain at work he likes. The big words you mouth, ambition, opportunity, upper brackets; you are the silly one! You don't realize the... the... how you say... the good deal you have at Longson. No, you are the fool wanting the rush and tension of Frank's job. Look at him and his big blonde, are they happy? All they are is nervous, and their faces fall of worry and fear lines.”

“Oh, you're talking like a European!”

“Indeed I am! Sure this is an exciting country but... for all your marvelous plumbing and fancy cars, you live without dignity, must vacation on a psychiatrist's couch. The great American small talk: how many times has one been through analysis! My father makes few francs as a school head. In his house there is not any new furniture, nor even an ice box, nor a TV set, and most times no hot water. Yet my parents live. Norm-man, can't you understand what it means for two people to find warmth and dignity in each other, in their lives? To have a flat that is not merely a cocktail lounge or a place to sleep, but a home? To—to—” She suddenly held her face and lapsed into gushing, hysterical French.

Feeling hysterical myself, I raced across the room and held her tightly. “Michele, my darling Michele, the heat takes it out of all of us. Guess it was a mistake for you to teach summer school. Now get a hold of yourself. After all, in two weeks you'll be in Paris, then in the south of France with your folks. Things will look different. When you come back, we'll talk this through.” My hands stroked the small of her back.

She pushed me away, her body actually shaking with sobs.

It was the first time she had ever pushed me from her and meant it. I said coldly, “Don't feel so damn sorry for yourself. Who am I ambitious for? Myself? It's for us, for you! Can't you get that through your head?”

She raised her wet face, and the tears seemed to make her more lovely than ever. “And can't you get it that I love you so much it is a torture not having children? I married you, not a.. a... medicine chest.”

“All right, honey, I'm with you, remember? Cut the tears and... I never knew it meant so much to you. Tell me, suppose it turns out we can't have kids? I mean, if we try for real. Then what? Are we finished?”

“If that is nature's wish then.... Oh, Norm-man, Norm-man, it is not only the matter of children. It is... sometimes I think we live like man and mistress instead of husband and wife.”

“Lord! Isn't that a peachy little thing to say!”

She turned away, muttering something in weary French as she closed the bedroom door. I understand French fairly well, when she speaks slowly. At least I can get the drift. I heard myself yelling after her, “What was that? What did you say?”

Through the closed door she whispered, “It does not matter. You can only understand what you want to see.”

“Yeah? And what the devil do you see except your own nose?”

There wasn't any answer. I waited a few seconds, then went back to the table and jammed some tobacco into my pipe. I was sweating like a pig. I took a can of beer and drank it slowly, standing in the kitchen doorway that led to the garden. I stared at the lighted windows all around us, most of them open, and wondered how many people had heard us. I'd never seen Michele like this before, but the more I thought about things, the more indignant I became. I mean, what the hell! Where did she come off giving me that? Anybody listening would think I was giving her a hard time! That I was a penny pincher or a bottle-head! That I ran around with bimbos! Here she practically blew a fuse, and over what? Exactly what? That I didn't jump through the loop when she mentioned a house or a kid! It was positively an uncalled for—

I heard the bedroom door open. Stepping back into the apartment I told myself to cut it out; sometimes women get cranky and have no control over.... She was slipping on her gloves. Michele was not only dressed, but she had a suitcase beside her. “Where do you think you're going?”

“To the airport. I phoned—there is the possibility of a cancellation on a Paris flight. Please do not try to stop me.”

“What the devil makes you think I want to stop you!”

Michele stared at me for a moment, her eyes sad and troubled. I thought she was going to bawl again. All she did was to say softly, “Au revoir. Norm-man,” and walk out of the apartment.

The closing of the door hit me like a kick in the stomach. Then I laughed out loud, a shrill nervous laugh, as I thought: She's only bluffing. Heu, European women never take the initiative, walk out on a marriage. Oh, that's a bunch of nonsense. Michele has to be bluffing, we've had it too good for it to be otherwise. A bluff. My God, of all the melodramatic corn—and she had the gall to complain about the TV show! Maybe I should have stood up to her more? But this caught me completely unprepared. Anyway, I couldn't be hard with Michele. I suppose I'll have to drive up with her and see this stone outhouse Saturday. Summer is half-over, I can stall until next Spring. When she comes back I'll tell her I want to see the house. She'll return by midnight Taking a suitcase!