The Secret Lives Of Housewives. Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
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.
Chapter
5
Monica settled into her Lexus and turned the radio on. Contemporary soft rock flowed from the speakers. She pulled out her PDA and opened a “notes” page. She quickly listed the other three women’s names and a quick bit about them so she’d remember everything next weekend. Remembering names and facts about people was one of the keys to her success in business. She closed the electronic organizer and heaved another deep sigh. She had to admit that she felt more relaxed than she’d felt in months. Except for that brief period after a particularly good orgasm, and that certainly didn’t last.
The heat and humidity in the air promised that the temperature would hit ninety before the day was through, but she flipped off the air conditioner and opened all the windows. She closed her eyes and breathed in the damp, post-rain air. Wonderful. How long had it been since she had last just smelled the air? As her eyes opened, she watched cars pull out of the parking lot and hoped the three other women she’d just met would find time to get together after next week’s class. “These women might be just what I need,” she said aloud. “A little down time with no strings or stress.”
Her first stop after class was her weekly appointment to have her nails done. Hemorrhage red, or at least that was what it looked like, and not too long. Practical, yet classically sexy. She liked that. She picked up two business suits and a light jacket at the cleaners and drove to the local 7-Eleven to do her shopping. She used to go to the supermarket but in recent months she was home so little that she needed very few things. Bread, a box of tissues, instant coffee, and dog food. Lots of dog food. As she passed the sandwich area, she grabbed a turkey and tomato wrap and munched it as she paid for her purchases.
She thought back to the previous week and realized she’d only been home twice; the other evenings she’d had late meetings or dates and had used the corporate apartment. As senior account executive at Conroy & Bates, one of the largest advertising agencies in the country, she was entitled to lots of perks and took advantage of them all. Why the hell not? she thought. After all, I probably bring in more business than any two other account execs.
At what cost? Okay, she had to pander to the needs of corporate advertising bigwigs who had nothing better to do than dangle a multimillion-dollar media account so she’d jump through any of the hoops they held. Whatever. Her face graced the business pages of newspapers and magazines and when she spoke, those who mattered listened. She thought she might be able to crack the glass ceiling at C & B and that energized her. She might eventually make partner, but for now she was happy being a force in the industry.
She put her groceries into the trunk, then headed home. To get to her town house, she drove down Sheraton and gazed at the expensive houses with their mile-long driveways and carefully manicured lawns. From time to time she’d considered buying one of them, but why? For show? She had no need for six bedrooms and a three-car garage. Oh, an in-the-ground pool would be nice, and maybe a sauna, but really. Why? Her town house was more than enough for her: three large bedrooms, living room, dining room, den, and spacious kitchen. What more did she need?
As she pulled