Virginia lingered on, in spite of the sun which she hated and usually managed to avoid. Even five minutes of it made her nose turn pink and her neck break out in a rash. “I have an idea. Why don’t I slip downtown and buy Jessie a couple of games? — you know, something absorbing that will keep her quiet.”
“I thought Howard was home today.”
“He is, but he’s still asleep. I could be back by the time he wakes up.”
“I appreciate your offer, naturally,” Ellen said, “but you’ve already bought Jessie so many toys and books and games—”
“That won’t spoil her. I was reading in a magazine just this morning that buying things for children doesn’t spoil them unless those things are a substitute for something else.”
Ellen had read the same magazine. “Love.”
“Yes.”
“Jessie gets plenty of love.”
“I know. That’s my whole point. If she’s already loved, the little items I buy her can’t harm her.”
Ellen hesitated. Some of the items hadn’t been so little — a ten-gear Italian bicycle, a cashmere sweater, a wrist watch — but she didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “All right, go ahead if you like. But please don’t spend too much money. Jessie might get the idea that she deserves an expensive gift every time something happens to her. Life doesn’t work out that way.”
There was a minute of strained silence between the two women, like the kind that comes after a quarrel over an important issue. It bothered Ellen. There had been no quarrel, not even a real disagreement, and the issue was hardly important, a two-dollar game for Jessie.
Virginia said softly, “I haven’t offended you, have I, El? I mean, maybe you think I was implying that Jessie didn’t have enough toys and things.” Virginia’s pale blue eyes were anxious and the tip of her nose was already starting to turn red. “I’d feel terrible if you thought that.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“Don’t go on about it, Virginia. You want to buy Jess a game, so buy it.”
“We could pretend it was from you and Dave.”
“I don’t believe in pretending to my children. They’re subjected to enough phoniness in the ordinary course of events.”
From one of the back windows of the Arlington house a man’s voice shouted, “Virgie! Virgie!”
“Howard’s awake,” Virginia said hastily. “I’ll go and make his breakfast and maybe slip downtown while he’s eating. Tell Jessie I’ll be over later on.”
“All right.”
Virginia walked across the lawn and down her own driveway. It was bordered on each side with a low privet hedge and small round clumps of French marigolds. Everything in the yard, as in the house, was so neat and orderly that Virginia felt none of it belonged to her. The house was Howard’s and the cleaning woman’s, and the yard was the gardener’s. Virginia was a guest and she had to act like a guest, polite and uncritical.
Only the dog, a large golden retriever named Chap, was Virginia’s. She had wanted a small dog, one she could cuddle and hold on her lap, and when Howard brought Chap home from one of his trips she had felt cheated. Chap was already full-grown then and weighed ninety pounds, and the first time she was left alone with him she was frightened. His bark was loud and ferocious; when she fed him he nearly gobbled her hand; when she took him out on a leash he’d dragged her around the block like a horse pulling a wheelless carriage. She had gradually come to realize that his bark was a bluff, and that he had been underfed by his previous owners and never taught to obey any orders.
From the beginning the dog had attached himself to Virginia, as if he knew she needed his company and protection. He was indifferent to Howard, despised the cleaning woman, and held the gardener in line with an occasional growl. He slept inside at night and kept prowlers away not only from Virginia but from the immediate neighbors as well.
Howard had gotten up and let the dog out. Chap came bounding down the driveway, his plumed tail waving in circles.
Virginia leaned down and pressed her cheek against the top of his huge golden head. “You silly boy, why the big greeting? I’ve only been away for ten minutes.”
Through the open kitchen window Howard overheard her and said, “A likely story. You’ve probably been over at the Brants’ gabbing with Ellen all morning.”
She knew he intended it mainly, though not entirely, as a joke. Without replying, she went in the back door, through the service porch to the kitchen. The dog followed her, still making a fuss, as if she were the one, not Howard, who’d been gone for two weeks.
Howard had made coffee and was frying some bacon on the grill in the middle of the stove. When he was home he liked to mess around the kitchen because it was a pleasant contrast to sitting in restaurants, being served food he didn’t enjoy. He was a fussy eater for such a large man.
A head taller than Virginia, he had to lean way down to kiss her on the mouth. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Virgie.”
“Am I?” Virginia said. “The bacon’s burning.”
“Let it. Did you miss me?”
“Yes.”
“Is that all, yes?”
“I missed you very much, Howard.”
He flipped the bacon expertly with a spatula, all four slices at once. “Still want me to quit my job, Virgie?”
“I haven’t brought that subject up for over a year.”
“I know. It makes me wonder how you’ve been spending your time while I’m away.”
“If you want to know, ask me.”
“I’m asking you.”
“All right.” Virginia sat down at the kitchen table, her pale pretty hands folded in her lap. “I start off each day with a champagne breakfast. After that, it’s luncheon with the girls, with plenty of drinks, of course. We play bridge for high stakes all afternoon and end up at a cocktail party. Then I have dinner at a nightclub and carouse until dawn with a group of merry companions.”
“Sounds rigorous,” Howard said, smiling. “How do you manage to stay so beautiful?”
“Howard—”
“Put a couple of slices of bread in the toaster, will you?”
“Howard, were you serious when you asked me how I spent my time?”
“No.”
“I think you were. Perhaps you’d like me to keep a diary. It would make fascinating reading. Juicy items like how I took some clothes to the cleaners, borrowed a book from the library, bought groceries—”
“Cut it out, will you, Virgie? Something popped into my head and I said it and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. Let’s forget it.”
“I’ll try.”
He brought his plate of bacon to the table and sat down opposite her. “I hope I didn’t wake you when I came in this morning. Chap made a hell of a fuss, he almost convinced me I had the wrong house. You’d think he’d know me by this time.”
“He’s a good watchdog,” she said, adding silently: You’d think I, too, would know you by this time, Howard, but I don’t. “How was the trip?”
“Hot — 103 degrees in Bakersfield, 95 in L.A.”
“It’s been hot here, too.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t we head for the beach this afternoon? We’ll loll around on the sand, have a walk and a swim—”
“It sounds nice, Howard, but I’m afraid I can’t. You know how badly I sunburn.
“You could wear a wide straw hat and we’ll take along the umbrella from the patio table.”
“No.”
He stared at her across the table, his eyes puzzled. “That was a pretty definite no, Virginia. Are you still sore at me?”
“Of course not. It’s just that — well, the umbrella’s no good any more. It was torn. I threw it away.”