you?”
I shrugged. “Men tend to be more visual than women.”
“Does he take matters into his own hands, so to speak?”
“I suppose.”
“You suppose? Well, where’s he when he’s looking at them, and where are you?”
“Sometimes if he can’t fall asleep, he goes into the bathroom.” Simultaneously, I felt that we had veered into territory that was none of Jadey’s business, and I also felt that being married to a man who every so often looked at pornography, or who masturbated, wasn’t a big deal. And yes, Charlie definitely masturbated, he did it to
he didn’t subscribe, but he bought an issue every few months, and while we didn’t exactly talk about it, he also didn’t try to hide it. It would have horrified me if he left a magazine in the living room, or if Ella found one, but since he was discreet—he kept them in the locked bottom drawer of his nightstand—I didn’t mind.
I sometimes got the impression that because of my frequent reading, I was less easily shocked than the people around me, that I knew more factual information—about sex, yes, but also about typhoons or folk dancing or Zoroastrianism. In addition to reading a novel every week or two, I subscribed to
and
and if I found an article particularly interesting, I’d see what I could track down about the subject at the Maronee public library.
Jadey was saying, “Don’t you feel like him looking at other women is an insult to you?”
“I just assume most men notice other women, and most women notice other men.
obviously do.”
She laughed. “That’s the problem—I can’t think of anyone to have an affair with.” The golf cart passed by us then, and one of the two men on it called out, “Ahoy, Blackwell ladies!” I recognized them as Sterling Walsh, who owned a real estate development company, and Bob Perkins, who was a good friend of Charlie’s brother Ed.
Jadey turned to me and nodded once meaningfully at the back of the golf cart. “Definitely not,” I said. “Arthur’s much more appealing than either one.”
“Are you at least going to support me on my diet? I can never stick to one when I do it by myself.”
“You don’t need to go on a diet. Just eat sensibly, and we’ll walk more often. We should walk in Halcyon, too.” Our families both were going for the month of July and into August; Charlie and Arthur would return at intervals to Milwaukee.
“Have you heard of the one where you eat half a grapefruit with every meal?”
“Oh, Jadey, girls in my sorority used to try that, and by the third day, they’d see a grapefruit and gag.” But I was struck in this moment by my immense fondness for Jadey. Though her upbringing had been more like Arthur’s and Charlie’s than like mine—her father had made a fortune as a cement supplier, and she’d been raised in a house as large as Harold and Priscilla’s—I still felt that as Blackwell in-laws, we were expats who’d found each other in a foreign country. I said then, “I want to ask you something. Have you ever thought that Charlie drinks too much?”
Jadey furrowed her brow. “The Blackwell boys know how to enjoy themselves—not Ed, but
boys do. But no. I mean, what would Chas do drunk that he wouldn’t do sober, right? Same with Arthur.”
“No, I agree.” It was such a relief to hear her say these things—they were almost identical to one side of the argument I’d been having with myself for the last few months. “How much does Arthur drink on an average night? For instance, if you’re all having dinner?”
“He has a few beers. Hell,
have a few beers. Hell,
has a few beers. I’m an awful mom, right?” She laughed. “No wonder everyone thinks people from Wisconsin are lushes.”
“So Arthur has, what, three beers? Or more?”
“Alice, let’s quit dancing around this. How much does Chas drink?”
Slowly, I said, “Well, it’s mostly whiskey these days, and I guess about a third of a bottle, but maybe a little less. It’s hard to say, because he buys the cases wholesale.”
“A third of a bottle every night?”
“I think so.”
“And does he
