“Time for bed, my dearest wife. Time for bed.” He kicked off a shoe and left it where it fell.
“Merry hell, Ed,” I grumbled, leaning over to pick up the shoe. “You’re going to wake the whole house.” How mortifying for my maids and housekeeper to know that my husband stumbled home in this state, at an hour closer to dawn than dusk.
“I do love those pink pajamas,” Eddie said in reply, as he sashayed across the front hall. I heard the scorn in his voice as sure as I smelled the liquor on his breath, and my stomach hardened. My voice was stony as I said, “Whiskey is a stupid substitute for your dignity.”
Ed froze midstep. “Let me guess, one of Dad’s many mottoes?” He smirked and then a hiccup jolted his narrow frame.
It would have been comical, had I not already been so irate, but seeing that silly hiccup only served to further fuel my anger. “Eddie, I’ve never witnessed a man so foolish with drink since being a girl attending a circus and seeing a wandering tramp begging for money outside the tent.”
Eddie did not look at me as he began his slow, unsteady climb up the stairs, with one shoe on but no interest in grabbing the discarded one. And then, without turning, he tossed out his good-night farewell by saying: “Perhaps I should put on some rosy pajamas. They do exemplify good taste, after all.”
* * *
I did not know where to turn. Mother was sick so often, I could not add to her burden. Nor could I bear to tell Papa. For one thing, I couldn’t stomach the idea of him sharing my troubles with Leila—the thought of her chirpy, smug gloating was enough to turn my belly sour. Papa wouldn’t gloat, even though he’d cautioned me against marrying a man I’d known so briefly, but still, I couldn’t bear to have him think I’d chosen wrong.
But it went deeper than that—I knew I’d let Papa down once before, when I’d refused his invitation to help run the Post family company, choosing my husband’s happiness instead. Well, I couldn’t very well let him down again by writing to him that my marriage was miserable, and that we were failing as husband and wife.
But even more than all of that, there was something else: I couldn’t bear the thought of Papa losing respect for Eddie. And wouldn’t that be inevitable if Papa were to learn the full truth of some of our quarrels? I knew that if Papa came to look at Eddie with disappointment or contempt, it would be just a short leap to my not being able to look at my husband with respect, either. And I needed to be able to respect Ed in order to love him.
A bright spot that summer came when Helen rang to tell me she was going to take the train down from Newport for a long weekend. I was thrilled at the news, eager for a chance to host my closest friend and savor her company. Ed had already made plans to crew a sailboat in a race up to Cape Cod that same weekend with some of his pals. “I’m disappointed that you won’t get to see Helen,” I remarked, as I watched him set out shirtwaists and trousers for his luggage.
“I know. But think of the sunny side, my darling,” Ed answered, pausing to offer a quick peck on the top of my head. “Now you and Helen have the place to yourselves. It’ll be good for the pair of you to have some hen time.”
“No, you’re right. Of course it’ll be wonderful to see Helen. I only wish the two of you—”
“Say, my dear, any idea where my boater’s gone off to? The straw one with the white band?” Ed looked around the room.
“I believe I saw it downstairs earlier,” I answered, “in the dining room.”
Ed snapped his fingers. “That’s right! My goodness, would I be lost without you.” He leaned toward me for another quick kiss. I managed a smile, and my husband, believing it, dashed out of the room in search of the hat.
I went with the chauffeur in the Ford to fetch Helen from the train depot. She stepped out onto the platform looking impossibly chic, a mint-green traveling suit sheathing her slender frame and a matching cap perched at a jaunty angle atop her head. “Mrs. Close, as I live and breathe!” she exclaimed, pulling me in for a hug before stepping back to make an exaggerated sweep with her eyes up and down my figure. I felt homely opposite her, wearing a suitable and wifely day dress of pale linen with lace detailing around the modest neckline. And the sound of my new name pronounced by Helen’s familiar voice caused me to shift on my feet.
“No stork and bundle on the way quite yet, from the looks of it,” she said with a wink, pinching my still-narrow waist. “Hell’s bells, Marjorie, it sure is good to see you. A married woman.” I didn’t know why, but I squirmed under her appraising gaze, worried at what she might discover if she looked too long or too deep.