exciting. But I thought he really did love me for what I am. I know I loved him. At first.'
Maddie looked at her shrewdly.
'Zoe, maybe you just loved him for loving you-or saying he did.'
'Yes. That's possible.'
They were subdued then, pondering the complexities of living, the role played by chance and accident, the masks people wear, and the masks beneath the masks.
'When did the fights start?' Maddie asked.
'Almost from the start. We were so different, and we couldn't seem to change. We couldn't compromise enough to move closer to each other. He was so-so physical. He was loud and had this braying laugh. He seemed to fill a room. I mean, I could be alone in the house, and he'd come in, and I'd feel crowded. He was always touching me, patting me, slapping my behind, trying to muss my hair right after I had it done. I told you they were silly things, Maddie.'
'Not so silly.'
'He was just-just all over me. He suffocated me. I got so I didn't even want to breathe the air when he was in the house. The air seemed hot and choking and smelled of his cologne. And he was so messy. Leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor. Throwing his dirty underwear and socks on the bed. I couldn't stand that. He'd have dinner, belch, and just walk away, leaving me to clean up. I know a wife is supposed to do that, but he took it for granted. He was so sure of himself. I think that's what I hated most-his superior attitude. I was like a slave or something, and had no right to question what he did or where he went.'
'He sounds like a real charmer. Did he play around?'
'Not at first. Then I began to notice things: women whispering about him at parties, his going out at night after dinner. To see customers, he said. Once, when I took his black suit to the cleaners, there was a book of matches in his pocket. It was from a roadhouse out of town. It didn't, ah, have a very good reputation. So I guess he was playing around. I didn't care. As long as he left me alone.'
'Oh, Zoe, was it that bad?'
'I tried, Maddie, really I did. But he was so heavy, and strong, and sort of-sort of uncouth.'
'Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am?'
'Something like that. And also, he wanted to do it when he was drunk or all sweated up. I'd ask him to take a shower first, but he'd laugh at me.'
'Hung?'
'What?'
'Was he hung? A big whang?'
'Uh, I don't know, Maddie. I don't have much basis for comparison. He was, uh, bigger than Michelangelo's David.'
Madeline Kurnitz laughed. How she laughed! She bobbed with merriment, slopping her drink.
'Honey, everyone is bigger than Michelangelo's David.'
'And he wanted to do disgusting things. I told him I wasn't brought up that way.'
'Uh-huh.'
'I told him if he wanted to act like an animal, I was sure he could find other women to accommodate him.'
'That wasn't so smart, luv.'
'I was past the point of worrying if what I said was smart. I just didn't want anything more to do with him. In bed, I mean. I would have kept on being married to him if he just forgot all about sex with me. Because I felt divorce would be a failure, and my mother would be so disappointed in me. But then he just walked out of the house, quit his job with my father, and left town. Lawyers handled the divorce and I never saw him again.'
'Know what happened to him?'
'Yes. He went out to the West Coast. He got married again. About a week ago.'
'How do you know that?'
'He sent me an invitation.'
Maddie exhaled noisily. 'Another prick. What a shitty thing to do.'
'I was going to send a gift. Just, you know, to show him I didn't care. But I, ah, tore up the invitation and I don't have the address.'
'Screw him. Send him a bottle of cyanide. All men should drop dead.'
'Oh, Maddie, I don't know… I guess some of it, a lot of it, was my fault. But I tried so hard to be a good wife, really I did. I cooked all his favorite foods and I was always trying new recipes I thought he'd like. I kept the house as clean as a pin. Everyone said it was a showplace. We had all new furniture, and once he got angry and ripped all the plastic covers off. That's the way he was. He'd put his feet on the cocktail table and use the guest towels. I think he did those things just to annoy me. He swore a lot-dreadful words-and wouldn't go to church. He wanted me to wear tight sweaters and low-cut things. I told him I wasn't like that, but he could never understand. He even wanted me to wear more makeup and have my hair tinted. So I guess I just wasn't the kind of woman he should have married. It was a mistake from the start.'
'Oh, sweetie, it's not the end of the world. You'll find someone new.'
'That's what I told you,' Zoe said, smiling.
'Yeah,' Maddie said, with a twisted grin, 'ain't that a crock? Two old bags drinking up a storm and trying to cheer each other up. Well… what the hell; tomorrow's another day. You still seeing Mister Meek?'
'I wish you wouldn't call him that, Maddie. He's not like that at all. Yes, I'm still seeing him.'
'Like him?'
'Very much.'
'Uh-huh. Well, maybe he's more your type than Ralph.'
'Kenneth.'
'Whatever. You think he's interested in getting married?'
'We've never discussed it,' Zoe said primly.
'Discuss it, discuss it,' Maddie advised. 'You don't have to ask him right out, but you can kind of hint around about how he feels on the subject. He likes you?'
'He says he does.'
'Well, that's a start.' Maddie yawned, finished her drink, stood up and began to gather her things together. 'I've got to get going. Thanks for the booze and the talk. You were right there when I needed you, honey, and I love you for it. Let's see more of each other.'
'Oh yes. I'd like that.'
After Maddie left, Zoe Kohler locked and bolted the outside door. She plumped the cushions on couch and armchair. She returned the bottles to the kitchen, washed the glasses and ashtrays. She took a Tuinal and turned off the lights. She peeked through the Venetian blind but could see no sign of the watcher across the street.
She got into bed. She lay on her back, arms down at her sides. She stared at the ceiling.
Those things she had told Maddie-they were all true. But she had the oddest feeling that they had happened to someone else. Not her. She had been describing the life of a stranger, something she had heard or read. It was not her life.
She turned onto her side and drew up her knees beneath the light blanket and sheet. She clamped her clasped hands between her thighs.
He was probably trying to get his new wife to do those disgusting things. Maybe she was doing them. And enjoying them.
It was all so common and coarse…
There was a luncheonette near 40th Street and Madison Avenue that Zoe Kohler passed on her way to and from work. It opened early in the morning and closed early in the evening. The food, mostly sandwiches, soups, and salads, was all right. Nothing special, but adequate.
On her way home, the evening of May 21st, Zoe stopped at the luncheonette for dinner. She had a cheeseburger with French fries, which she salted liberally. A cup of black coffee and a vanilla custard.
She sat by herself at a table for two and ate rapidly. She kept her eyes lowered and paid no attention to the noisy confusion churning about her. She left a fifteen percent tip, paid her check at the cashier's counter, and hurried out.
