Читать книгу The Secret Lives Of Housewives - Joan Elizabeth Lloyd - Страница 10

With a small prayer, Eve started her 1996 Toyota and heaved a deep sigh when the engine caught. She really had to get it over to the mechanic today but she didn’t want to take the time. She needed to get home, just in case.

She drove through the center of town, down Main Street with its collection of stores, gas stations, and restaurants. Villa Moretti’s. Yeah. She hadn’t been there in quite a while and a plate of linguini with meat sauce would taste really good. She had long since stopped minding sitting by herself, reading a good romance novel, and filling her stomach. She’d go there later—if she felt like going out.

For now she turned onto Pinetree. East Hudson was such a nice, ordinary little town, she thought. Ordinary streets with ordinary people doing ordinary things. A ball field and kiddy park. An elementary school on the next block. That was fine with her. She was basically an ordinary person with ordinary needs.

This particular section of town was filled with apartments and inexpensive condos, near enough to the railroad tracks for some commuters to make the long walk to the station and for her to hear the train whistles. Others thought the sound of the long, low wails was lonely, but to her it was a dreamy sound, particularly on a hot summer evening when all her windows were open.

It made her think of the movie Picnic. She loved old films and that was one of her favorites. William Holden and Kim Novak making love beside the railroad tracks. You never saw anything that wasn’t G-rated, but it was obvious that they did it that night.

She must have seen that film at least two dozen times, and each time she played it she worried that eventually her videotape might just wear through. If it did, she’d buy another. William Holden would be much too old now for her thirty-one years but in that film he was everything she wanted.

She considered what she wanted and realized that Mike might be calling right now. She resisted the temptation to speed but she had to get home. She knew he wouldn’t leave a message, no tangible evidence. Maybe his wife would go out for lunch or take the kids somewhere and he’d be able to call and talk for a few minutes. It seemed like forever since she’d seen him. Of course, it had been only yesterday at the office but that wasn’t the same as really seeing him. She pushed her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose and deliberately slowed down to twenty.

They’d been able to get a funch, as he called it—fuck for lunch—the previous Tuesday. God, those were good. Grab a hot dog, separately, of course, from the vendor on the corner or bring in sandwiches from the deli on the next block, then hurry to a small nearby hotel where no one asked any questions. Okay, when she really thought about it, it did seem a bit furtive, but it was always worth it. Mike was wonderful in bed.

Frustrated, she arrived at the Garden Grove Apartments, parked her car in its assigned space, grabbed her purse, and dashed up the walk. She’d had to drive through the complex really slowly since the street was filled with children. Bikes and balls filled the sidewalks and spilled over onto the roadway. Elementary school girls covered the walkways with colored chalk designs and drawings while the teens and preteens talked in small groups.

Her unit, number 206, was up one flight in the back, very private. She had dreams of Mike being able to get an evening to spend with her. As she headed for her building she allowed herself just a moment to fantasize.

He’d come to her apartment. No one would see. His hair would be a bit mussed and she’d smooth it away from his face. His wonderful face. It wasn’t handsome exactly, with its heavy nose, chiseled chin, and heavy, black-framed glasses. But his eyes. God, his eyes. Almost black and so seductive. When he looked at her, even in the office, she’d melt. His mouth was full and so sexy that it took all her willpower not to rush over and kiss it.

“This is heaven,” he’d say, looking around her modest apartment, and she’d watch his lips form the words. She’d be able to look at him to her heart’s content. No need to be circumspect. They’d share a glass of wine and talk about romantic movies, novels, or television shows, anything but the office. He’d put his feet up on the coffee table, lean his head back onto the sofa cushions, and relax.

Then he’d turn to her, cup his hand on the back of her head and pull her close—close enough for a long, searing kiss. She’d touch him, stroke him, undress him slowly, and he’d do the same for her.

Then they’d walk, hand in hand, to the bedroom and stretch out on the bed. The windows would be open and she’d hear the distant train whistle. He’d sigh and agree that it was a lovely sound, tell her how he also loved riding on trains. They would do that on their honeymoon, once he was free of Diana.

He’d touch her then, long slow caresses. As he touched, she’d feel herself swell and her wetness increase. In the light from the bedside lamp she’d watch his cock grow, thickening and lengthening until she knew he was ready.

He’d take his time, rubbing her wet folds, caressing her clitoris, making sure she was ready for him. She would be eager for him and he’d slowly slide into her, taking a long time before he came. And she’d climax, too, just a moment after he did.

The dream had flashed through her mind in only a few seconds, but when she returned to the present she lamented the time wasted and quickly rushed up the walk, idly waving to a few of her neighbors, sitting on lawn chairs on the grass, surrounded by children. As she turned her key in the lock, she heard only the wail of Maxie, her male Siamese, and the galloping feet of Minnie, her coal black female alley cat. No, she was a mixed breed, a domestic short hair like they said on Animal Planet. And Minnie wasn’t just a domestic short hair—she was much more. She was a friend, a confidante. When she couldn’t talk to anyone else, she could talk to Minnie. She flashed on the three women she’d met earlier. Maybe…

Eve opened the door and scooped Minnie up before she could slip out. Maxie turned his back and sauntered toward the kitchen as he always did, as if to say, “Okay, so you’re home. Where’s my treat?” but Minnie rubbed her cheek against Eve’s and started to purr.

Cradling Minnie in one arm, Eve dropped her purse on the chair, walked into the kitchen, and glanced at the answering machine. Nope, no message. Had he called and just hung up when the machine answered? She wouldn’t know unless she asked him. She realized that she could give him her cell phone number, but that seemed so public and impersonal, and anyway she was home all afternoon every Saturday and Sunday. No, the cell phone wasn’t intimate enough. When he called she wanted to be at home.

The kitchen was tiny but immaculate, bright floral dishes put lovingly in the cabinet, a tea kettle shaped like a cat on the narrow stove, three cat-shaped magnets on the refrigerator holding the phone numbers of the building’s superintendent, her family doctor, and the vet. Well-washed, spatter-patterned tile covered the floor. Although there was limited counter space, when she saw them at a garage sale, Eve couldn’t resist the canister set—each of the three containers shaped like a fluffy, black and white Persian kitten—which now occupied a place of honor beside the stove.

Maxie jumped onto the counter and settled there, washing his paws as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Eve dropped Minnie beside him, then got two kitty treats from the box in the cabinet and gave one to each. She kept a restraining hand firmly on Maxie and watched Minnie daintily eat her tidbit. If she didn’t watch, Maxie would push Minnie out of the way and eat both treats. Men. Wasn’t that the way.

Over the next hour Eve changed into jeans and a T-shirt, tidied her already tidy apartment, vacuumed the simply furnished living room, plumped the cushions on the ersatz colonial sofa, and straightened the matching chair and tables. She ran a soft cloth over the frames of the old romance movie posters that filled the walls, lovingly dusting Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca and Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland in Robin Hood. Then she gathered a load of laundry that she’d take to the laundry room in the next building that evening, when she knew Mike wouldn’t call. He never called after five. Family time with his wife and kids. No, she wouldn’t think about that part of it.

For lunch she opened a can of tomato soup. While it heated, she thought about which movie she’d watch. She looked over her large collection, but she realized that she already knew what she wanted. She pulled the Picnic tape from the shelf and stuffed it into the VCR. When the soup was almost ready she put a bag of popcorn in her small microwave and listened to the comforting sound of the popping. Finally, an oversized mug of soup in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other, she wandered into the living room and pressed play on the remote. As the film filled the TV screen, she dropped onto the sofa and the two cats settled themselves on her legs.

She fell into a light sleep and nearly jumped off the couch at three-thirty when the phone rang. Two startled cats dashed across the room as she picked up the cordless handset she’d placed on the floor beside the sofa. She stopped a moment to slow her racing pulse, and once sure she’d sound fully awake, softened her voice. “Hello?”

“Hi, sugar.”

It was him. “Hi, Mike. I’m so glad you got a chance to call.”

“Diana’s out so I’ve got just a moment. How was your class?” She was in heaven. He’d actually remembered that she took yoga on Saturday morning. “Aerobics, right?” he asked.

“Yoga.” Okay, he wasn’t exactly right, but he’d remembered something. “It was really good. Angie is such a good teacher.”

“That’s great.”

She pulled off her glasses. “Maybe next week, if you can call only on Saturday around lunchtime, you could use my cell phone. I really want to talk to you, but I might not be home. I might go out with some ladies from the class.” It would be worth losing the sense of privacy to be able to sit with the others from the yoga class. Anyway, he didn’t usually call until midafternoon, when Diana was out. She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder.

“Sure. You’ll give me the number on Monday. Does Tuesday lunch work for you this week?”

He knows it does, she thought. He’s my boss after all, but he always asks. So polite. “Sure. I can’t wait.” She yanked the bottom of her T-shirt out of her jeans and took off her glasses.

“Me neither.” He paused. “I think I hear the door. Gotta run. See you Monday morning.”

“See you,” she said, but the line was already dead. She breathed warm air onto the lenses and polished her glasses, then put them back on. She saw that the tape was playing the final credits so she stopped it, pressed rewind, and settled down to watch Picnic again.

As the opening shots filled the screen she scooped Minnie up and set her on her lap. “He’s so wonderful. He says that in a few years he can get a divorce, once his children are old enough to understand.” She scratched the cat’s belly. “Won’t that be wonderful, Minnie? Just Mike and me.”

Minnie began to purr loudly and Eve pulled a brightly colored afghan over her legs and snuggled down to watch the film.