'Mostly I'm mad at myself for not having been what I thought I was.'
'You're too hard on yourself, Oliver.'
'My ego died a few months ago.' He turned away, and she saw the mist in his eyes. She moved toward him and embraced his head, kissing his hair. She felt motherly, incestuous. Opening her robe, she moved her breasts to his mouth.
'Let me love' you,' she begged, knowing he was beyond resisting, aching for comfort.
Her cheeks felt hot and the alcohol had rushed to her head. His body shook with sobs.
'Cry, darling,' she urged, caressing him. She felt the power of her womanhood as she reached for his organ, caressing it, undressing him.
'You're beautiful,' she said. He stood up and the joy of seeing him made her shiver with pleasure. Kneeling before him, she kissed him there. His response was immediate.
'I'm sorry,' he whispered.
She drew him down to the couch and snuggled beside him. They lay together, hardly moving. She listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
'Thank you,' he said when he stirred again.
He opened the armoire and grabbed a vodka bottle by the neck. Then, taking her hand, he led her up the stairs to his room. She had never been inside it since he had moved into it.
The room was dusty and had a foul, musky odor. It was in complete disarray, with files and papers strewn over all available surfaces. She saw a hot plate on the open desk of the Hepplewhite secretaire and unwashed dishes on the japanned commode. Liquor bottles, some half filled, lay about the room. He caught her expression of distaste.
'What did you expect?'
She embraced him, hoping to soothe him. But he broke away and picked up a Staffordshire figure that stood next to the dirty dishes.
'Queen Victoria,' he said, pointing to the figure. 'Like my life, I guess. A forgery. We got stung in Atlantic City. I keep it around to remind me of my stupidity.'
His tone was ominous and she wondered if she had contributed to his mood. She watched his eyes sweep the room.
'Look what's become of my life,' he snapped.
'It'll pass, Oliver,' she said lamely. But he was not to be placated.
'I have to hide all my personal records in here. I don't want her to overvalue the house. I've had to research all the receipts and insurance estimates. What a waste of time and energy.'
He brought two tumblers in from the bathroom, poured some vodka, then opened the window and brought in a carton of orange juice. He poured some into the tumblers.
He had spent long hours locked in this room. She had been curious about what he did there, and once she had listened at the door. There was no television set. Few books. It struck her as more of an animal's lair than a man's room. Among the odors she picked out was Benny's doggy smell, noting that he had somehow followed them into the room and now lay sprawled on an Art Deco rug beside the bed. Its beige background was stained, dirty.
She went to the bathroom, complete with bidet, which she used, mirrored walls, marble floors, and gold-plated plumbing fixtures. This room, too, was a mess. .
'I'm not much of a housekeeper,' he said when Ann came out. 'I haven't had much practice. My generation depended too much on women.'
'What about the maid?'
'I won't even let her in here. Barbara's ally.' He looked at her strangely. 'You think I'm paranoid?'
The question seemed aggressive and she ignored it, sitting on the high bed.
'So what are you going to do with your life, Ann?' he asked suddenly, as if dismissing his own gloomy thoughts.
'Jefferson is my life for the present,' she mumbled. I'd like to be included m yours, she told him silently.
He looked at her kindly and touched her bare shoulder.
'You're a gift, Ann. A gift to the children. A special gift to me.'
Barbara had offered gratitude as well and it pained her now. She felt a sense of her inferiority, but dared not ask him for comparisons.
'I'm not just giving, Oliver. I'm taking, also.'
He stopped caressing her. 'Now you sound like her.'
She felt a wave of panic. She had acquired a sense of independence and a posture of equality. It did not seem queer to voice her affection in those terms. She saw the gap now. He was of a different generation, with a different way of looking at women. So that's it, she decided, feeling odd waves of insight, as well as a sense of alliance with Barbara.
'Nobody wants to be dependent anymore,' he said gloomily. 'Whatever happened to man the hunter, man the protector?'
'Some people just don't accept the idea of males being lord and master anymore.'
'I wasn't, really. We were a team. I was supportive of all her attempts at independence. How could I have known that the bitch was lying to me all those years? It was an act.' His features became rigid. 'Maybe this is an
