The Housewife(40)

“And?”

“Well. She was probably not wearing makeup. She looked really strange, her expression, everything really… She looked…older.”

“Older?”

“It was only a second. Then Roy opened the door, and he was very charming, very himself, and he said Deborah was resting upstairs. I thought I’d just seen her, that’s what I told him, I could tell from her hair, she had beautiful golden hair, you know. Masses of it.” She hesitates.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I know you think you’ve got him,” she says bitterly. “Because you ensnared him, somehow. But you know nothing about him. You have no idea what this man went through.”

I ignore the insult. “What did he go through?”

She leans forward, fire in her eyes.

“She was mad.”

“Who?”

“Deborah, of course. He told me. She was doing terrible things to herself and he was trying to help her. That man is a saint.”

“How long was that before she died?”

She shrugs. “A week, maybe.”

“And that’s it?” I say. “You never went back?”

“I didn’t want to intrude. And we had Roy over, of course. Many times. Richard and I kept a close eye on him. We wanted to make sure he was all right. It was all very hard on him. Poor man…being shackled with Deborah like that.”

I sit back. “You didn’t like her much, did you.”

“Deborah? I adored her! We all did!”

“If she was so unhappy and she was one of your very best friends, you would have tried again, wouldn’t you? You would have wanted to know what was wrong with her, how you could help her. But Roy says boo and that’s that. You didn’t even try. ”

She touches her hair.

“Fine. You’re right. I didn’t like Deborah that much. There. I said it. I thought she was weak.”

“Weak?”

“She had the perfect marriage. Roy was the most wonderful husband. He had money, a great career, a beautiful home. What else do you want in a man? Have you ever been to one of his book launches? No. Of course not. He gets mauled, Jodie. He even had a stalker for a while, did he tell you? Some horrible woman wearing beanies and baggy clothes who was following him everywhere. That’s how famous he is.

He was the most sought-after bachelor in town, but it was Deborah he wanted. He was wonderful to her. Absolutely wonderful. Even when she got sick, he took such good care of her.” She looks at me haughtily. “He loved her, Jodie. We all saw it, all the time. He would do anything for her. You could tell from the way he looked at her how consumed with love he was.”

She touches her hair again.

“One thing we’ve all noticed is that we’ve never seen him look at you that way.”





24





Deb wasn’t doing terrible things to herself. That much I know. Which means he was doing terrible things to her.

When I get home, Marie has a chicken roasting in the oven. I open the oven door. I can tell just from the smell that it’s going to be the most boring roast chicken ever. I close the door and find her in the dining room cleaning the silverware.

I step away silently and return to the kitchen. Judging from the look of the chicken, it has been roasting for about thirty minutes, which means she intends to serve in about an hour.

I take the temperature down to 100 degrees just as Roy comes home.

I am ready. I grab a small compact mirror I’d left in the drawer this morning and slip it into my pocket.

Roy goes into his office, the way he always does. I prepare a drink for him, Scotch and soda, and take it in .

“Hello, did you have a nice day?” I say.

“Yes, yes. Thank you.”

“I brought you a Scotch.” I set it down on his desk.

He has his back to me, riffling through the papers in his briefcase. “Thank you.”

“I thought you might like a Scotch to relax for a change. You’ve been working so hard. Here. Let me take your jacket for you.”

I gently lift his jacket off his shoulders. He stops what he’s doing and shakes his arm free. I kiss the side of his chin. “I love you. I love you more than anything and anyone in the world.” I fold his jacket very carefully over my arm. I am on my best behavior. I am loving, dutiful, and deferential. I am the perfect housewife. He turns around and slowly, reluctantly smiles at me.

“Thank you.”

He picks up his papers out of his briefcase then walks to the safe. “Turn around, please, Jodie.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.” I knew this would happen. It happens every day, pretty much. I do as he says, and in one swift motion I slide my compact from my pocket, open it, and position it at the correct angle, just as he types the first digit.

It’s…backward. It’s a 5, backward.

“Marie is making a lovely dinner. Roast chicken, I believe. Isn’t that exciting?” …8… My heart is thumping. “Maybe you could choose a nice wine for us to go with the roast chicken?” …6…4…1… Was that a 1 or a 7? Jesus. How long is that code anyway? I’m never going to remember all that. 3…and…click.

That’s it. 586413. I hope that’s it. 586413 .