Housebreaking (8 page)

“This is Benjamin Mandelbaum,” he stammered, feeling much like the high school version of himself. “I got your note.”

“My thank-you note?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Thank you for that.”

She laughed. “You're not required to thank someone for a thank-you note.”

“No?”

“No. It could go on and on.”

“Like pi,” he said.

“Exactly.”

There was a silence. Finally he said, “I was just about to take the dog for his evening stroll, and I was wondering if you'd like to come along.” He braced himself for her rejection, but she agreed without a pause, suggesting they meet at the bottom of the street in ten minutes.

He felt his pulse beginning to quicken. Even if dog walking was all it would amount to, that would be okay. He welcomed the company. Dog walks could be a lonesome business this time of year. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if she wanted more than companionship from him. He certainly hoped so.

He brushed his teeth, rolled on some deodorant, and changed into a pair of khakis. Five minutes later he was tugging Yukon down the street, breathing in the crisp night air. He found Audrey waiting by the mailbox, her malamute wagging its tail. Yukon leapt at the sight of the other dog, howling and straining at the leash. Then, getting close, he quieted and politely inspected the other dog's rear.

Audrey greeted him with a hug, surprising him with the press of her body. “Let's go down to the grammar school,” she proposed. “Sheba likes to dig in the sandbox.”

“Fine by me,” he said.

They crossed the intersection, Audrey leading the way. He studied her backside, a reflex whenever any woman walked ahead of him. (Judy called this his “biological necessity.” She would roll her eyes and tell him to stop ogling.)

“I'm glad you called,” said Audrey. “I've been sitting alone in that house all day. My daughter has a ten o'clock curfew and she uses every minute of it.”

“How old is she?”

“Seventeen.”

“Mine was the same way at that age. Social butterfly.”

“When we first moved here, she wouldn't leave the house. Now she won't come home. I guess I'm happy she's made some friends. I just wish I knew who they were.”

He said, “This is Wintonbury, Audrey. She'd have to look pretty hard to find trouble in this town.”

“If there's trouble, she'll find it. That's Emily. She would stay out all night if I let her.”

Audrey smelled wonderful, some perfume that went directly to his groin. Had she put on the scent for his benefit? If so, it had worked. His cock strained against his pants, giving him an awkward gait. His laptop just didn't satisfy the desire.
Biological necessity
, indeed.

They turned up the path toward the grammar school. The dogs ran back and forth on their leashes between the rows of tall pines at the edge of the property, sniffing at the bases of the trees. Smoke from someone's fireplace rose into the night air. The grammar school was brightly lit, every classroom illuminated, although the parking lot was empty. Behind the building, the asphalt playground was grass-eaten and potholed, splattered with chalk marks. At the far end of the school property was the sandbox and, beside it, an ancient metal swing set and a new contraption made of large red plastic tubes that looked like an enormous caterpillar.

They stood side by side, both holding long leashes, as the dogs busied themselves, sniffing and searching for some unknowable spot. Like most salesmen, Benjamin felt uncomfortable with lapses in conversation. He wondered if Audrey were cold. Judy was always freezing; she'd turn the thermometer to seventy-five degrees during winter. She called him cold-blooded, like a lizard, which didn't even make sense.

“We can go back if you're cold,” he suggested.

“No, this is fine.”

“You sure?”

“There's no rush.”

A sudden growling came from the dogs, and he turned to see Yukon
trying to mount the malamute, bucking and grasping from behind. He yanked the leash and pulled Yukon away. “Sorry about that,” he said. “He's fixed but still interested. I'm not sure why.”

“You could say the same thing about my husband.”

Benjamin laughed uncomfortably, not knowing what she meant, exactly. Married people were always mentioning their spouses without thinking, so maybe this was accidental. He often caught himself doing the same thing—
Judy this, Judy that
. Even at the end, when they could barely tolerate each other's company, he would hear himself dropping her name at the office, a symptom of living too long with the same person. He spouted her opinions, assumed her likes and dislikes. Now, separated for five weeks, he still caught himself using words like
sketchy
and
basically
—her words, which he didn't even like.

Benjamin decided to push the issue. “Aren't you getting along?”

“Andrew and I are way past not getting along. Something's up, ever since we moved to Wintonbury. He doesn't come home until eleven o'clock most nights. I hardly see him.”

“Do you think he's having an affair?”

“No. I'm pretty sure Andrew's incapable of that sort of thing. But there's always a chance, I suppose.”

Benjamin couldn't think of anything to say, so he just made a sympathetic “hmm.”

After a moment Audrey went on. “I think he's making some sort of power play at the office. He's a partner at a big law firm. He worked out of their Stamford office for the past fifteen years, but moved us up here to take over the employment litigation division—Wait, is this boring?”

“No,” said Benjamin. It wasn't boring in the least. He enjoyed hearing her speak and being close to her, and he especially enjoyed knowing she didn't get along with her husband, which opened up room for him. This woman had occupied a pedestal in his mind for so long, and yet he knew very little about her. “Do you think he's doing something illegal?”

“God, no. Not Andrew. He's too smart for that. But unethical, or borderline unethical—who knows.”

“Well,” said Benjamin, “he's a lawyer, right?”

She offered a forced smile—and he winced, telling himself,
She's Wesleyan, Yale, you douche bag. The car lot humor won't work on her. Up your game! She's smarter than you and everyone you know—

“Andrew keeps mentioning one of his junior associates, without seeming to realize it. They play tennis together. I've heard him calling him and leaving messages—”

“And that's unusual?”

“For Andrew, yes. Most of the people who work for him, he can't even remember their names. He'll socialize with the other partners, but only if it's necessary. So, I think he's using this new associate to do his dirty work.”

“I see . . .”

She turned to him, shrugging. “Sorry, this
is
boring. I don't want to talk about Andrew. I'm past that stage.”

“First of all,” he said, “you couldn't bore me if you tried. Second, what stage?”

This time, her smile seemed genuine. “The complaining stage,” she explained. “Back in Cos Cob, that was the theme at book club, no matter what we read: Let's complain about our husbands!”

“What does that sound like?”

She affected an exasperated tone—and he remembered what a terrific actress she'd been in high school. “
‘He never asks about
my
day. All he does is talk about work. He leaves dishes in the sink as if I'm the maid. He forgets our anniversary. He forgets the kids' baseball games. He drinks too much, golfs too much, wants sex too often, or not often enough. His feet smell like rotten cheese.' That's the theme and variation. Our stinky, rotten husbands.”

“And you're past that stage?”

“For the most part. Although it does feel good to vent now and then.”

He said, “Did anyone ever tell you how terrific you were in
Guys and Dolls
—as Sarah Brown?”

“I can't believe you remember that. The character's name, even.”

Of course he remembered the character's name; he'd read the photo caption not so long ago. The yearbook was still open on the desk in his room. “I'm good with names,” he explained. “Trick of the trade.”

“Right. Car salesman.”

“Well, the book club ladies don't seem so strange. My wife certainly enjoyed venting. But to me, mostly.”

“That's not venting. That's bitching.”

“I suppose so.”

“But now you're free, right?”

“Sixty days and counting.” He gestured vaguely to the north, toward Granby and the turn-of-the-century Victorian she'd bought and renovated with their savings. “All that stuff she crammed into the house. I'm glad to be free of it.” He felt himself playing the part of the carefree divorcé, but for the most part, he realized, it was true, at least in that moment.

“I envy you,” she said. “But if I got rid of Andrew, who would cut the grass?”

He laughed. “That's exactly what my wife said.
Who's going to mow the lawn? Who's going to shovel the goddamn snow
?
”

“I understand her perfectly.”

He paused, pleased with the direction of the conversation. “So, which was your husband?”

She glanced at him, her brow creased. “Hmm?”

“Too often or not often enough?”

She sighed. “The latter, unquestionably. We haven't done anything in that department for a long time.”

“How long?”

She turned to him with a half smile. “You're pretty direct, aren't you?”

“Have I mentioned, I'm a car salesman?”

“You don't look like one, if you don't mind me saying.”

“What do I look like?”

She examined him with mock concentration, narrowing her eyes in a way he found endearing. “Rare book dealer.”

He laughed. “Now you're making fun of me.”

“Not in the least. You have a rumpled sort of eclecticism about you.”

He laughed extravagantly, although uncertain what the word meant. Her
Wesleyan Yale
vocabulary. “Don't try to change the subject,” he said, changing the subject away from thesaurus territory before he betrayed his ignorance.

“Fine, but you tell me first.”

“Me?” He laughed. “That's easy. Five weeks. A day or two before Judy kicked me out. You?”

“A year and a half.”

“Really? That long?”

“I can give you the exact date . . .” Her smile faded and she fell silent. The dogs seemed to register the lack of their voices, and both animals turned to look at them—tongues hanging out, panting.
Idling
, Benjamin called that, when the dog just stood there with a blank look on its face.

“Do you like wine?” she asked brightly. “I'd love a glass right now.”

He glanced at his watch. “It's only seven-thirty. We could go somewhere.” Stupid suggestion, he realized immediately. She was married; how could they go anywhere in a town as small as Wintonbury?

“I don't feel like going out,” she said.

“I have a bottle at my place, if you prefer.”

“Don't you live with your father?”

He didn't want to ruin the mood by telling her about Leonard's stroke, so he simply said, “He's away for a while.”

“Is it a red?”

“It is.”

“Now you know my weakness. Red wine.”

He tugged on the leash, and the dog bounded away from the sandbox. They started back toward Apple Hill Road. He could hardly believe that she was coming to his house. To distract her, so she wouldn't change her mind, he babbled about people who lived in the houses they passed—as if this were all perfectly normal, something they'd done a hundred times before.

At his house, when he opened the front door, the dogs ran down the hallway with their leashes trailing after them. She opened her jacket, revealing a tight T-shirt with glittery red letters across the front.

“Have a seat in the den. I'll get the wine.”

He didn't realize that his hands were trembling until he fumbled the corkscrew. It took him a minute to get the cork out of the bottle. He hoped the wine hadn't gone bad; he'd found it in a low kitchen cabinet, behind the garbage bags, the sale tag still pasted to the bottle ($8.99
SPECIAL
!).

He handed her a glass, and she took a long sip, looking around at the framed family photos. It felt strange being alone with a woman in his dad's den, among his fusty old-man possessions. Benjamin tried not to think about Leonard now, drugged up in his hospital bed.

She examined his black-and-white high school graduation photo on
the wall, an 8 x 12 shot of young Benjamin accepting his diploma from the Goodwin headmaster. She said, “Did you really have a crush on me back then?”

“Of course. You were the most beautiful girl in the entire school. I thought about kissing you all the time.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Tell you what? That I wanted to kiss you? I'm sure that would have gone over well.”

“Do you still want to kiss me?” She finished her wine with a long drink, put the glass down on the coffee table, and turned toward him. “I'd like that.”

He swallowed involuntarily. “Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

He kissed her gently on the lips. When he pulled away, she put her hand behind his head and brought him back. As they embraced, he ran his hands over her arms, lightly grazing the sides of her breasts. After a few minutes, she leaned back and yelped in surprise and said, “What the heck?” She reached behind and pulled Leonard's hot-water bottle from between the couch cushions: a bright red bladder, still filled with water, like an organ. She said, “Maybe we should go to your bedroom.”

“Right.” His voice felt thick. “It's upstairs.”