Pause. Jack looked up at Billie, a silly smile creeping out. He loved it when she kowtowed to him like this. So what if it was just her ploy.
‘Nah,’ he said, and slid an arm around her waist. ‘Not yet.’
She knew he loved her. These quiet moments were the best. The news programme cut to a commercial. Rice-A-Roni! The San Francisco treat! Rice-A-Roni! Everybody’s got the beat! She made a mental note to buy some, then yawned, raised her arms up high, let her breasts rise too, till Jack had to stop pretending he was watching television. He pulled her onto his lap, and she giggled her little-girl giggle. In this moment of forgetfulness, they slipped into their old selves, and every single thing in the world – even the children – disappeared.
Then the phone rang.
Jack tried to hold on to her, but Billie sprang up to answer it. It was sufficient that he’d pulled her onto his lap. Anticipation, for her, was the best part. But Jack’s spirits dipped immediately. She never wanted sex.
‘Jack, it’s the boy about the Volkswagen you saw in the paper.’
He took the phone, and Billie danced a little and sang softly. Sugar! Honey, honey! You are my candy girl, and you got me wanting you. One thing about Billie, she’d always been light on her feet. Jack could hike, play tennis, sail a boat, ride a ten speed, but could he dance? Billie danced around him now like a nymphet, as he talked on the phone about mileage and air-cooled engines.
After the boy had been paid and the VW Beetle parked in his garage, Jack did a territorial inventory. Emptied out the glove compartment, peeked inside the trunk, under the seats. The boy had been just another spoiled brat driving a car his dad bought him, and there was lots of junk left behind. Hershey wrappers, beer cans, butts. Jack threw all these out onto the floor of the garage with disgust. Then, in the little pocket on the back of the driver’s seat, he found a sandwich baggie full of green…what the hell?
A week later, Sam was rummaging in his dad’s sock drawer for a pair to wear to school, as usual. Why were his dad’s socks so much nicer? They just were. And there it was, nearly an ounce of marijuana in his father’s sock drawer. Jiminy-fucking-Cricket! He’d only just begun smoking joints himself, and felt both proud and sinful about it. Now he frowned. Was there no way to rebel against this man?
They decided to go for a walk in the woods, not too far from home. The neighbour’s dog followed them, a red setter. It was a delicious day, and the sun filtered down through the eucalyptus trees. The air was a warm fug of tree menthol and dust raised from their hiking boots. After a while they stopped, sat on a log, and Sam rolled a joint. A little one-skinner in liquorice paper. Jack loved to smoke, and he sucked the joint down like the first cigarette of the day. The dog wandered off. There she went, her tail thwacking the underbrush.
‘Lady!’ called Jack. ‘Lady, come here!’
‘Just leave it, Dad. Not our dog.’
‘We didn’t stop her following us.’
Jack kept calling, and the dog kept walking. Then his voice dissolved. He couldn’t even finish saying her name without giggling so hard he fell off the log.
‘La…deeee!’
‘La…! Dee…!’
‘La…la…la…! Dee…deee…dee!’
‘You okay, Dad? Guess you’re feeling it now, eh?’
‘Where’s she gone? The damn dog’s gone!’
This was the funniest sentence Jack had ever uttered or heard, and he was speechless for a good five minutes. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, and his son laughed too. In a surprised, conspiratorial way. Then Jack stood up slowly, smiled goofily and meandered off. This way, that way, an aimless gait till he was out of sight.
‘Lady!’
His voice trailed through the shadows under the trees, interspersed with low warm laughter.
‘Lady!’
He returned with the dog and an anxious face, and sat down beside Sam. He noticed his son’s knees still had scabs, just like a seven-year-old. Did he still fall off his bike? And what was he doing smoking this stuff, at his age? He was just a kid. Gin was tons better. You knew where you were with a martini. Must explain that to him. As soon as talking became possible.
‘How are you, Dad?’
‘Not. Good.’ He leaned closer and whispered, ‘I’m screwed. How can I go home to your mother like this?’
So they walked around a bit, till things seemed less scary for Jack, talking about football scores and camping plans. His eyes were bloodshot and the pupils dilated. By the time they headed back to the house, Jack’s heart had stopped pounding quite so fast, and light and sound had almost reverted to normal intensity.
‘Thanks, Sam,’ he said as they approached home. ‘Really.’
‘No problemo. Hey, don’t look in the mirror for a while, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘It’s far out, isn’t it? Getting high.’
Jack imagined replying that, yes, it was far out getting high, but the phrase made him cringe, would sound affected in his mouth. In any case, talking was still difficult.
It was only 4pm, but Jack went straight to his bedroom to lie down. And there she was. There was his wife. He really did have an actual wife, an entire female human being who belonged to him. Sorting laundry out on the waterbed, neat piles of shirts and shorts and pyjamas – their children’s clothes. Imagine that – they had two children! Children who wore clothes! One of whom just got his old dad stoned. His whole life was a goddamn miracle.
Billie was her usual dreamy self. The summer months, with the kids home, seemed to be an endless round of interruptions and domestic chores. She was never alone, and missed her solitude a bit but didn’t dwell on it. Most days she moved from one activity to another, and hummed songs from her youth. A bit of hair had fallen out of her ponytail, so it curled up on her neck. That was what he noticed first, as her face was turned away. That curl, that part of her neck. And a relief she wasn’t looking at him.
‘Not feeling that great, hon. Going to lie down for a while,’ he said as naturally as he could, then moved some clothes, lay down on his side and closed his eyes. The water in the bed sloshed loudly. He stayed still and waited for the turbulence to subside. How had he never noticed how noisy it was? But still, it was warm at night when he got in, and also proved they were not valley fuddy-duddies. All in all, a great way to sleep. But what was that smell? Jesus, since when had clean clothes smelled like this? He wanted to bury his face in the neat pile next to him. He wanted to open his mouth and eat those shirts. He was very conscious that everything was wonderful, but what he really wanted was to feel normal again. He sighed. His old self, that oblivious being, hovered just beyond the bed. Oh, blessed unselfconsciousness!
He heard the door close softly, and the water sloshing of Billie on the bed beside him. She lifted one of his arms and placed it around her chest, as she manoeuvred herself backwards into the curve of his body. For a few minutes Jack slipped into a deep sleep, as if her presence had unlocked him somehow, returned him to his relaxed self. Wife as antidote to marijuana-induced paranoia. But when she moved slightly, he instantly rose to the surface. Trying to ape normality, he slid a hand up her leg. Then scooped her breast inside her bra, recorded how moist it felt. He didn’t feel inside his own body – instead, he watched himself. She was a stranger, really. He was a stranger too. And hell – what he was doing was just bizarre, wasn’t it? Wanting to literally slot into this being. This woman. He carried on regardless, but while fiddling with the condom, was humiliated to find there was nothing to make one necessary.
‘It’s okay, honey,’ she said casually, as if this was not an entirely new experience. ‘I’ve got to take Elisabeth and Sam to the mall now anyway.’
He got up after he heard the front door slam, and went to his desk. Tried to work, then decided to do chores instead. Nothing that required thought. Tightened the hinges on the basement door. Paid some bills. All the while thinking: To hell with marijuana. Goddammit, what if it’s ruined him permanently?
Then he stopped suddenly and phoned Ernie. ‘So, Ernie, you know about grass, right? Joints.’
‘I know, but have you tried any?’
