Эд Макбейн - Barking at Butterflies and other stories

“I figured...”

“I’m not interested,” he said.

“That’s exactly what I figured. A man goes away for three weeks...”

“Twenty-four days.”

“Yes, and doesn’t even call the woman he professes to love so madly...”

“Yes, so the woman runs back to a two-bit sculptor she used to screw every Tuesday!” Frank shouted.

“Right!” she shouted back, and suddenly there was a hammering on the wall.

“Oh, hell! ” Frank said. The hammering stopped. “You know what he does in there?” he asked Millie. “He’s not at all interested in that frumpy little blonde he brings here every week. All he does is sit in there and wait for us to raise our voices so he can jump up on the bed and bang on the wall. You hear that, you fat bastard?” he shouted. The man next door immediately hammered on the wall again. Frank went to the wall and began banging on it himself. The hammering on the other side stopped at once. Satisfied, he went back to the mirror and began knotting his tie.

“It was awful with Paul,” Millie said.

“Good.”

“Do you know what he’s into these days? Sculpting, I mean.”

“Nipples, I would imagine,” Frank said.

“Ears. His whole studio is full of these giant-sized ears.”

“Let me know when he gets to the good part, will you?”

“These huge ears all over the place.” She shook her head in wonder. “All the while we were making love, I had the feeling somebody was listening to us.” She went to the clothes rack, took down her skirt, and stepped into it. “I don’t know why I went there,” she said. “Maybe I sensed what was about to happen.”

The telephone rang. Frank went to it instantly, and picked up the receiver. “Hello?” he said. “Yes, this is Mr. McIntyre. Really?” he said. “Banging on the wall? No, I don’t think so. Just a minute, please.” He turned to Millie, and said, “Darling, were you banging on the wall?” Then, into the phone again, he said, “No, nobody here was banging on the wall. Maybe it’s the plumbing. Have you had the plumbing checked lately? Well, that’s what I would suggest. Goodbye.” He hung up, went to the dresser again, scooped his change, keys, and wallet off the top of it, and put them into his pockets.

“Frank?” she said. “Do you think we’re finished?”

“No,” he said immediately.

“I think we are,” she said.

“Millie,” he said, “let’s get a couple of things straight, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Number one, the trip to Antigua was not a second honeymoon. The situation between Mae and me has not changed an iota.”

“What’s the situation?”

“Mae and I love each other, but we are not in love with each other.”

“You’re comfortable with each other, right?”

“Right.”

“Just a pair of comfortable old bedroom slippers tucked under the bed, right?”

“Right.”

“Then why didn’t you come back with a tan?” Millie said.

“Millie, let’s get a couple of things straight, okay?” he said.

“We already got the first thing straight,” she said, “so what’s the second thing?”

“The second thing is that I still feel the same way about you. I’ll always feel the same way about you, in fact.”

“That’s very nice,” she said. “How do you feel about me?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“But you don’t love me.”

“It’s the same thing, Millie. Being in love with someone and loving someone...”

“How come with me it’s the same thing, but with Mae it’s a totally different thing? A minute ago you were a pair of old bedroom slippers...”

“I’ve known Mae for twenty-two years,” he said. “I’ve only known you for ten months.”

“And twelve days.”

“Who’s counting?” Frank said.

“ I am, damn it!” Millie said.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to...”

“I understand fine,” Millie said, and walked to where she’d left her pumps near one of the easy chairs. Sitting, she said, “Mae’s your wife, and I’m your Tuesday afternoon roll-in-the-hay.”

“Millie, that isn’t...”

“Look, Frank, you’re Italian and you’ve got all these romantic notions about being in love, but actually I think what you really enjoy most about coming here is the idea that I’m some kind of whore or something.”

“I have never thought of you as...”

“Have you ever thought of me as a mother, Frank?”

“A mother!”

“I have two children, you know. I have two adorable little girls that I made. Me. Personally.”

“With a little help from Michael, I assume.”

“What would you do if, with a little help from Michael, I got pregnant again? I can just imagine how that would sit with you. Big fat belly marching in here every week, what would that do to the image of the bimbo on the Via Margherita?”

“The what?”

“The Via Margherita. That’s where Italian men keep their little pastries.”

“I’m not an Italian man, I’m an American man.”

“Right, you’re Mr. McIntyre, right?”

“I’m Mr. Di Santangelo, but I don’t have a bimbo on the Via Margherita, wherever the hell that may be. As a matter of fact, I don’t have a bimbo anywhere .”

“As a matter of fact, you have one right here in New Jersey,” Millie said. She reached down for one of her pumps, and without looking up at him, slipped her foot into it and said, “Michael wants to have another baby.” She put on the other shoe and only then looked up at him. “What should I do?” she asked.

“That’s up to you and Michael, isn’t it?”

“It’s also up to you,” she said.

“Why don’t we arrange a meeting then? Three of us can discuss it, decide what we...”

“Do you want me to have a baby, Frank?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“Why not?”

“I hate babies,” he said.

“It wouldn’t be your baby.”

“I hate anybody’s babies.”

“How can a man who hates babies write a popcorn commercial with two little kids...?”

“That has nothing to do with it. I hate popcorn, too.”

“You’d never even see this baby,” Millie said. “All I’m trying to find out is whether you like the idea of me having one, that’s all.”

“No, I don’t like the idea.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like the idea of your having another man’s baby.”

“Another man? He’s my husband!”

“Anyway, what is this, a conspiracy or something? Is everybody in the whole world having a baby all of a sudden?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, and went immediately to the clothes rack, and took his jacket from its hanger.

“ Who’s having a baby all of a sudden?” she asked.

“Millions of women,” Frank said. “Chinese women are having them right in the fields. As they plant the rice seedlings, they...”

“Never mind Chinese women, how many American women are having babies that you know of?”

“Right this minute, do you mean?”

“No, I mean nine months from last month when you and Mae were in Antigua working so hard on your suntans.”

“Mae, do you mean?”

“Is Mae pregnant?”

“Who? Mae?”

“Mae. Is she?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Which is why she ran out instantly to sell her little shop, right?”

“I don’t know why...”

“Probably at Bloomingdale’s this very minute, picking out a bassinette.”

“Millie...”

“Knitting little booties in her spare time,” she said, her voice rising, “papering the guest room with pictures of funny little animals! How could you do this to me, Frank?”