“I’m not sure I know that, but I’ve never been married.”
“You know what I mean. Men have the money. A woman needs a man to get it.”
“I wonder if Gloria Steinem makes house calls,” I said.
“Oh, that’s crap,” Patty Giacomin said. Her color was high. “You probably mouth the liberal line like everyone else around here, but you know what’s reality all right. Men have the money and the power and if a woman wants some, she better get hold of a man.”
I shrugged. I was beginning to see where Paul had picked up the habit.
“I know some folks who might argue with you,” I said. “But I’m not one of them. I’m too busy counting my money and consolidating my power.”
She smiled. “You do look quite powerful,” she said. “Do you lift weights?”
“Sometimes,” I said.
“I thought so. My husband, my ex-husband, used to.”
“Not enough,” I said.
“That’s right, you’ve seen him, haven’t you. He’s gotten fat. But when we met he was really quite good- looking.”
“You really think he’ll make another try for Paul,” I said.
“Absolutely,” she said. “He’s, he’s…” She groped for words, “I don’t know, he’s like that. He has to get even. He can’t stand to lose.”
“Capture the flag,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
I shook my head. “Just musing aloud.”
“No, please tell me. You said something. Do you disapprove of me?”
“It’s not my business to approve or disapprove,” I said. “It’s my business to see that your kid is okay.”
“But you said something before. Please tell me.”
“I said capture the flag. The kid’s like a trophy you two are fighting for.”
“Well, that son of a bitch is not going to get him,” she said.
“That’s right,” I said.
“Why don’t you take your coffee into the living room and read the paper,” she said. “I’ll clean up here.”
I did.
She bustled about in her flowered apron and put the dishes away in the dishwasher and swept the floor. When my breakfast had settled and I’d finished the paper I went to my room and changed and went out to run.
The winter was over. The weather was good and somewhere the voice of the turtle was probably being heard. What I heard were mostly sparrows. I jogged toward the center of town, feeling the spring sun press on my back. There was still an edge to the air. It had not yet softened into summer. But by a mile I had a pleasant sweat working and my legs felt strong and my muscles felt loose. There were other joggers out, mostly women this time of day. Probably looking for a man to grab so they could cut in on the money and power. Probably why Susan had latched on to me. Poor old Patty. She’d read all the stuff in Cosmopolitan and knew all the language of self- actualization, but all she really wanted was to get a man with money and power.
Ahead of me a young woman was jogging. She had on the top of a beige-and-blue warmup suit and blue shorts cut high. I slowed down to stay behind her and appraise her stride in the high-cut shorts. Women looked realer in the spring. Like this one. She hadn’t had a chance to get this year’s tan yet and her legs were white and vulnerable- looking. Good legs though. I wondered if I offered her money and power if she’d jog with me. She might. On the other hand she might accelerate and run off and I wouldn’t be able to catch her. That would be humiliating. I picked up the pace and went past her. She had big gold hoop earrings on and she smiled a good-fellowship smile at me as I went past. I tried to look powerful and rich, but she didn’t hurry to catch me.
I cruised down through Lexington Center past the Minuteman and looped back in a wide circle to Emerson Road. It took about an hour and a quarter, which meant I’d done seven or eight miles. Patty’s car was gone. I did some stretching, took a shower, and dressed. I heard Patty’s car pull in. And when I went out, she was just breezing into the kitchen with some groceries.
“Hi,” she said. “Want some lunch?”
“Are you after my money and power?” I said.
She looked quickly sideways at me. “Maybe,” she said
.
CHAPTER 9
On the weekend Paul improved his TV viewing average. Patty Giacomin had departed to self-actualize in New York. I had the living room and Paul stuck to his bedroom except to make a periodic trip to the kitchen to stare, often for minutes, into the refrigerator. He rarely ate anything. Looking into the refrigerator seemed merely something to do.
I had to stick with him, so I couldn’t run or build some cabinets in Susan’s house like I’d promised I would. I read most of the day about Enguerrand de Coucy and life in the fourteenth century. Saturday afternoon I watched a ball game on the tube. About six o’clock Saturday afternoon I yelled up the stairs to him.
“You want some supper?”
He didn’t answer. I yelled again. He came to his bedroom door and said, “What?”
