Authors: Elaine Raco Chase
Virginia sniffed audibly, her fingers toying with the luxuriant
dark curls on his muscular chest. "Alex," she sniffed again, trying
not to sound too whiny, "couldn't we order a pizza?"
He sighed and kissed her hard on the lips. "All right." He
lifted her off his lap. "Let me get dressed." Alex looked through
the archway into the kitchen and shook his head. "You've got quite
a mess to clean up."
"I've decided to do this scientifically," Virginia told Diane.
"This"-she lifted an orange-striped box -"is guaranteed to clean
ground-in dirt. This"-she poured blue liquid on a shirt
collar-"will remove neck stains. This"-she aimed a pump bottle at
an ink smear-"will unspot clothes. And this"-she pulled a white
sheet from a dispenser roll-"will eliminate static-cling and keep
the clothes smelling fresh for weeks."
"Really?" Diane tossed a handful of all-purpose detergent into
her washer, slammed the lid, and pushed in the coin holder. Leaning
her denim-clad hip against the rapidly filling machine, she plucked
a cigarette from her pink sweat-shirt pocket and hunted for a
match. "I thought Connolly's picked up and delivered all your
laundry."
"They're just doing the dry cleaning." Virginia carefully fit
quarters into three machines, sighing with relief when they all
began their wash cycles.
"Alex didn't like the way they did his shirts-too much starch.
He said it was just as easy to come down here and throw our few
things in the machine." She smiled brightly at Diane. "After all,
it's not like we have to beat the clothes against a rock."
"Hmmm." Diane inhaled, made a perfect smoke ring, and watched it
drift into invisibility among the copper pipes that ringed the
basement laundry room. "I can think of more exciting ways to spend
a Saturday." She cast Virginia a sidelong glance as they seated
themselves on a pair of cold gray-metal folding chairs. "Where is
your better half?"
"Alex is at the lab," Virginia explained, hunting through a pile
of damp ancient issues of movie magazines for something more
stimulating. "His laser experiments are giving him trouble, and he
wanted to work on them." She gave up the search, tucking her own
jean-covered legs Indian-style beneath her. "So," she smiled at
Diane, "what have you been up to lately?"
"Just getting the rest of the Christmas presents to ship back
home. I'm trying to wangle a couple of days off to go skiing during
the holidays."
"That sounds like fun." She rolled up the sleeves on her green
plaid shirt. "I'm really looking forward to Christmas this year,"
Virginia confessed, her blue eyes radiating excitement. "Never
having a family to exchange presents, I've really gone overboard
buying things for Alex and his folks and all the in-laws and nieces
and nephews." She gave a contented sigh. "I was hoping we could fly
to New Orleans so I could meet everyone, but since we're both
outside consultants we don't get any extra time off."
Diane dropped her cigarette. Her blue tennis shoe drilled it
into one of the many cracks in the concrete floor. "How much longer
do you have at AVELCOMP?"
"Well . . ." Virginia scratched her cheek in thoughtful
contemplation. "I don't really have that much more work. I'm hoping
to wrap things up by the end of this week and then . . ." She
paused, her gaze focusing back on the chugging washers. "Then maybe
I can be a little more relaxed and concentrate on my wifely
duties."
"Wifely duties?" Diane blinked.
"You know . . ." She gave a self-conscious laugh. "The cooking,
the cleaning, the laundry, the cooking
"Especially the cooking." Diane cast her an amused glance. "How
are you doing? Apartment-house gossip has it that your smoke alarm
blew up because of overuse-"
"That's a rotten lie!" Virginia jumped in: "I disconnected the
damn thing!" She looked at Diane, and they both burst out laughing.
"Alex may be the only husband who's lost weight since getting
married." She shook her head sadly. "In the past three weeks I've
given every cut of meat third-degree burns; my pasta is either mush
or brittle; vegetables soggy or still frozen in the middle;
rice-even the minute variety-is like wallpaper paste. Alex said the
chickens of America would commit suicide if they could see what I
do to their eggs."
"He still won't let you serve any frozen dinners, huh?"
"No." Her blond ponytail swished back and forth. "Matter of
principle, he said. All women are born cooks, it's in our
genes."
"What a load of garbage!" Diane patted Virginia's arm. "How
about taking one of those evening cooking classes?" she suggested,
setting another cigarette on fire.
"I've been thinking about it." Virginia rubbed the back of her
neck, surprised to find it damp with perspiration. "I just never
realized how hard home-makers really work. They are truly domestic
engineers." She turned serious. "You wage a never-ending battle
against dirt and laundry. I never seem to get out of the
kitchen-cooking and cleaning are self-perpetuating!" She thrust
chapped hands under Diane's nose. "Look at this!" Then she hastily
slid the rough red fingers between her legs. "Alex said it's a
waste of water to use a dishwasher when there're only two of
us.
"You know what gives me a royal pain," Virginia continued,
working herself into a fine rage. "Those TV commercials depicting
the working wife as 'superwoman.' " Her forefinger jabbed Diane's
knee. "Those cheery little Madison Avenue creations come home from
work with a big smile, dust and cook in their little Calvin Klein
suits, read the kiddies a bedtime story, then turn into a sex
goddess for hubby."
Virginia leaned back against the chair. "Now
that's
fantasy!"
"What's Alex doing while you're playing domestic engineer?" came
Diane's caustic rejoinder.
Virginia stood up, jammed her thumb into her jeans pockets, and
made an intent study of the rapidly turning wheels on the electric
meters. "Well, he's ..." She cleared her throat. "Alex is having a
bit of a problem with that laser effect Glendale wants. He's been
spending a lot of time trying to trace down errors."
"Can't you help?"
Can't I help? Virginia bit her lip. She had offered. She closed
her eyes and remembered last Tuesday. She had made one small
suggestion, and Alex had literally exploded. What did she know
about his specialty? Was she the expert on everything? "No ... no,
I can't help Alex with this project." Her words were barely audible
over the spinning washing machines.
"Ginger?" Diane's pert face peeked around her shoulder. "Is
everything all right in Apartment Three-ten?"
"I love Alex." The words were said with sincere conviction. "I
think once I get my projects cleared away, life will be easier."
Virginia smiled at Diane, her cheeks suffusing with color. "You
know, it's not easy living with someone. First, we're two different
sexes, although that's the fun part." She laughed, her voice and
manner growing lighter. "We were raised differently, opposite
backgrounds; even our single lives weren't alike. But I'm a
realist. It's going to take longer than three weeks to settle into
a routine. It's not the 'happily ever after' you read about in
books."
The washers spun to a halt, and both women proceeded to transfer
their clean clothes to the driers. "Oh, look at this," Virginia
groaned, holding up a shirt for Diane's inspection. "It went in
white and came out dingy gray!"
"Don't worry." Diane sucked in her cheeks. "It'll match Alex's
eyes."
CHAPTER NINE
Rain streamed from her hair, trickled in rivulets over her face
to coldly meander down her neck and throat. Whoever said "it never
rains in California" should be taken out and shot, Virginia
decided. Her stockinged feet squished a squeaky tune inside
waterlogged leather oxfords as they followed a well-worn path from
the elevator to her apartment door.
She groaned audibly when the knob refused to turn. First
Nature's deluge, then an hour-long backup on the freeway, then
another half hour standing in line at the market, and now a locked
door!
Lifting one knee to balance a grocery bag that had started to
disintegrate the minute the clerk snapped it open, Virginia somehow
managed to search her shoulder bag. Wet, numb fingers finally
caught the metal key ring, and with a series of clumsy movements
she struggled into the darkened apartment.
Virginia wiped her wet cheeks against the equally rain-soaked
shoulders on her tan trench coat, while blindly groping her way
toward the kitchen. The watermarked grocery sack grew more fragile
with each step. She tried to hurry. Her foot twisted in her shoe;
her arms slipped. The brown paper bag splintered from the bottom,
sending a shower of boxes, cans, and other sundries bouncing and
rolling across the carpet. "Damn!"
The end-table light snapped on, illuminating the living room.
"What. . . who . . . what happened?" Alex's hoarse voice grated
against her ears.
She looked from her sleepily blinking husband to the mess on the
floor. Angry and exhausted, Virginia threw the rest of the bag on
the carpet. "Didn't you hear me at the door?" Her voice was sharp,
her features pinched in annoyance.
"I was sleeping." His words were muffled by a prodigious yawn.
As Alex stretched his arms and legs the sports section slid off his
chest. It found a home among the other tumbled newspapers littering
the base of the sofa and coffee table.
"I'm glad someone was able to get a little rest," came her
acidic rejoinder. Virginia shrugged off her raincoat and slipped
off her shoes, placing them neatly in the entry closet.
Her mud-splattered beige pants and damp jade green blouse made
her feel clammy and uncomfortable. She walked past Alex into the
bathroom, returning a few minutes later in a warm, fleece-lined
navy robe.
Alex watched Virginia curl into the far corner of the velour
conversation pit, drying her hair with a towel.
"How did your meeting go in Glendale?"
"Fine." Her fingers combed through the wet blond strands. "It
was a very long, long day. We worked through lunch." She closed her
eyes. It was such a relief to have her end of the project finished.
Virginia took a deep breath. She wanted to ask how his laser
experiments went, but that was a sore subject. "Anything in the
mail?"
He sat up, shaking the dullness from his mind. Crunching papers
in the breast pocket of his brown knit shirt sounded intimidating
to his ears. A muscle moved in his cheek. "Just a few bills, one of
your trade magazines"-Alex flexed his broad shoulders -"and the
usual junk mail."
Virginia focused on the empty mug, beer can, and cracker crumbs
peppering the chrome-and-glass cocktail table. Her stomach felt
welded to her backbone. "I'm starving," she stood up. "Let's eat.
That casserole should be more than done."
"Casserole?"
She looked back over her shoulder. "I called to remind you.
Didn't you put it in?" Her words sounded splintered.
"It slipped my mind." Alex scratched his head, his palms
smoothing his thick dark hair back in place.
"Slipped your mind? Great!" Her hand slapped her hip. "It'll be
another hour before it cooks."
"Let me get you a drink," he offered quickly, getting to his
feet.
"No." The word was exhaled forcefully. "That'll just pique my
appetite." She stooped to rescue a loaf of whole wheat bread from
under the dining room table and headed into the kitchen. "I'll make
a sandwich."
"Don't bother with anything for me," Alex called, bending to
collect the fallen groceries. "I've already had a snack."
"So I see." Virginia sucked in her cheeks. Shaking her head, she
stared around the galley kitchen. Cabinet doors gaped open; a wedge
of cheddar sat crusting on the Formica counter surrounded by three
knives and a box of crackers, which had fallen, leaving a snowfall
of crumbs covering the floor. "You could have put things away,
Alex." She stood framed in the archway, lips a thin pink ribbon
against her pale complexion. "You could have remembered the
casserole."
Alex looked from her angry-set features to the blue box of
tampons in his hand. "Now I understand why you're so out of sorts."
He gave her a consoling smile.
"Don't be ridiculous." She snatched the box from his fingers.
"I've had my period every month since the age of eleven." Her voice
was tight and brittle. "That's two hundred and twenty eight of
them, and I have never ever been out of sorts!" She finished an
octave higher.
"What I meant was," Alex continued in a soothing, languid tone,
"you're probably just as upset as I am because you're not
pregnant."
"Pregnant?" Her head reeled back, blue eyes blinking rapidly. "I
never expected to be pregnant," Virginia pointed to a decorative
blue jar on the spicerack. "That bottle marked 'One A Day' is not
full of vitamins!"
His gray eyes narrowed. "I'd assumed your need for a
contraceptive was over now that you're married."
She stared at him, her own eyes changed into icy chips. She
didn't like his tone or his inference. "Well, you assumed
wrong."
"We've never actually discussed having a family, but I know you
want a baby. All women do."
"All women?" Virginia folded her arms across her chest. His
generalities about the female sex were getting on her nerves. "Does
it make me less a woman if I tell you I'm not the least bit
interested in getting pregnant? Not now and not in the immediate
future."
"You're not getting any younger and-"
"Listen, Alex." The words were tough. Her finger jabbed the air.
"Women are not brood mares. We don't have a limited breeding
season. Medical science has made great advancements, and women can
have healthy children well into their forties."
"Are you going to cash your social security check to buy diapers
and formula?" he taunted, his voice leaden with sarcasm.