Jean Sifton: The door-to-door salesman

"Oh, you're still up," Doug commented as he let himself in the back door.

Betty felt the blood rising to her head and bit back a sharp retort. Maybe he has a good reason, and he'll tell me in a moment. "Would you like anything, some coffee, or maybe a sandwich?" she asked, trying to keep her voice careful and even.

"No, just get me a drink, will you?" Doug replied without looking at her.

Something in his manner and the way he had snapped out his answer irritated Betty, and she couldn't help hissing back: "What kept you till this hour? I've nearly gone out of my mind with worry!"

"Just get me that drink, okay?" Doug said coldly, peeling off his jacket. Betty, seething with burning anger, mixed him a Scotch and soda and silently handed it to him. She didn't know what to say next. She didn't want to anger him, but on the other hand, she felt she was entitled to some explanation. She watched as Doug took a deep swallow of the drink, and wondered what could have delayed him.

"The car broke down," he said finally, and something snapped inside Betty. His brief, unclear explanation stung her to the quick, and the unfeeling way he was treating her concern and worry made her quiver with rising fury.

"Well, why the hell didn't you call me and let me know? I nearly called the police, I was so worried about you! You didn't have the good manners to call me, and now you're acting as if I'm some kind of nut just for asking!" The words tumbled out in a near-incoherent blaze of anger, and Betty found that she was trembling.

"Look, honey, I'm dead tired. Let's leave it till the morning, all right?"

"No! It's not all right!" Betty sobbed, giving full vent to her rage. "You come back here, cool as a cucumber, and expect me to believe that bull about the car breaking down! You must think I'm a real dumb-bell!"

"Listen, Betty, I don't feel like listening to your hysterics right now. The car broke down and I was so worried about it, I forgot to phone you until I was ready to leave the gas station, so I decided not to bother and get right on home!" Doug lied smoothly, hoping that his wife wouldn't notice the slight flush that was rising to his face. He hadn't realized it was so late, or he would have phoned, if only to avert Betty's histrionics. But he really did forget to phone, what with Selma wanting to fuck again, and then by the time they got to a gas station and got the car fixed, and then dropped her off at home…

"So I'm hysterical, am I?" Betty shrilled. "If you'd been stuck here all these hours, worried to death about where I was, you'd be hysterical, too!"

"Hysterical, maybe, but I wouldn't Goddamn nag you!" Doug retorted, unable to contain himself.

"And why the hell shouldn't I nag, when you come home at this hour with some flimsy excuse! For all I know, you were out with some other woman!"

Doug blanched, and wondered if she could hear the furious thudding of his heart. Had she guessed? Did she find out in some way that he'd spent those hours with Selma? His guilty conscience churned in speculation and he was unable to form a suitable reply. Betty noticed his uneasiness and she pressed her advantage.

"Yes, that's it. You were probably out with some cheap slut, and now you come back here to me, at this hour of the morning, without even an apology!"

"Why the hell should I apologize?" Doug railed, suddenly finding his voice again. "The car did break down," he insisted, "and if you like, you can check the gas station in the morning!" As soon as he said it, he was sorry. Suppose she did check the gas station, and the attendant told her that he had been with a voluptuous blonde? Oh Christ, he shouldn't have said that.

"Let's go to bed, honey," he said in a conciliatory tone, "we're both tired and tomorrow…"

"I don't want to hear anything more about tomorrow! I want to get to the bottom of this tonight!" Betty asserted violently. She knew she was acting shrewishly, but she couldn't help herself. The floodgates of her emotions had burst open and had washed away any restraint she might have put on her tongue. The day had been such a miserable one, and throughout the length of it, she had to live with her guilt over using that horrible vibrator. Several times she had decided she'd make a clean breast of it and tell Doug when he came home, but that was out of the question now. She knew she was just taking her guilty feelings out on her husband, and another time she'd have accepted his excuse with loving concern. But tonight, she just couldn't let the matter rest.

"Betty," Doug began in a threatening voice, "I'm sick and tired of your harangue. Now just shut up and leave me alone!"

Betty's feelings were lacerated by her husband's cold tone. All the feelings she had nurtured about being misused and unappreciated leaped to the fore and pushed aside caution.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" she raged. "I'm sick and tired of you, with your disgusting ways, always thinking about sex, treating me as if I was a robot! You act as if you were God Almighty, but I know what you're really like! You're a… a… bad-mannered, ill-tempered… savage!" Her eyes were blazing and she was staring at her husband with utter loathing. A recollection of how he had wanted to make love to her last night flashed before her eyes, and of the other row they'd had this morning… Oh God, she just couldn't take any more!

Doug couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't quite follow her line of thought, and as he hadn't mentioned making love, her outburst took him by surprise. But it also infuriated him. Selma doesn't think I'm a bad-mannered, ill-tempered savage! he thought with sudden vehemence, and involuntarily took a step towards his wife.

"Stay away from me!" she shrieked wildly, jerking back against the kitchen table.

That was the last straw for Doug. The realization that his wife was afraid of him, had actually thought that he was going to harm her in some way goaded him in a way that her words hadn't. So she thought he was some kind of a monster, did she? Well, he had never given her any reason to think that before, but by Christ he would now!

"I told you before to shut up, you nagging bitch!" he spat, moving towards her and grabbing her shoulder with a rough movement.

"TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" she screamed, struggling desperately to break away.

"I'll teach you to pay attention to me," Doug snarled, and with a sudden swipe, slapped her hard across the face. Betty stared at him in dumbfounded horror, unable to believe that he had actually struck her.

"You… you bastard! You hit me!" she gasped in disbelief. "Now I know what you're really like… a man that would strike a woman!"

"You haven't a clue what I'm really like," her husband sneered, "but by God, you'll soon learn!"

"Get away from me!" she demanded hoarsely, her eyes widening in fright, dismayed at the reaction she had provoked.

"I've had just about all I can take from you," Doug spat, his hand tightening on her arm. "Now you'll do what I say, and like it!"

A hot retort choked in Betty's throat. She was really afraid now. She had never seen her husband so angry, and she knew that it was mostly her fault for aggravating him. Oh God, why didn't I keep my mouth shut…

"Get your clothes off!" Doug suddenly ordered.

"Wha…?" Betty gasped, unable to believe that she had heard him right.

"Get your clothes off!" Doug yelled again, moving menacingly closer.

"You must be crazy!" Betty breathed, trying to struggle free of her husband's clutching fingers. But his only reply was to reach up and pull wildly at her blouse, ripping away the buttons, baring the softly molded curves of he brassiere-encased breasts. Betty could only stare at her husband as he hooked his fingers under her brassiere and with one sharp tug, he pulled it away from her body, leaving her full voluptuous breasts swinging free, the nipples stiffening in the cool air.