Peter Jenkins - The reluctant neighbor

"What are you trying to do?" he demanded of her, raised above her on his arms. "If you want me to make love to you, then lie still."

Marily did. She lay perfectly still, all desire gone, while he fucked in and out of her, not really touching her feelings again. She lay under him almost hating him, repulsion for his selfishness angering her. She knew that he was about to cum, not because he grabbed her and clung to her and pounded into her but simply because his breathing increased and his strokes became minutely faster. He withdrew from her almost as soon as his semen had flooded into her and got off the bed and went directly to the bathroom.

Marily lay as she was, heard the shower running, and laughed bitterly to herself. She knew that he was washing her dirt off himself. When she heard the shower stop she got up, went to her own bed. She feigned sleep when he re-entered the bedroom. She heard the springs give as he got into his bed, then the sounds of breathing (deep) that he made, then shortly a soft snore. For no reason at all tears sprung to her eyes.

She cried silently.

As her tears of frustration trickled slowly down her cheeks she began to consciously, for the first time to analyze her life, to look back over it, examine it, hoping to find an answer for her immediate situation.

Her whole life had been spent in study, one school after the other, until graduation from college. She had developed, she thought, as all the other girls had and a darned site better than ninety percent of them. She was an only child, her parents did not believe in a display of affection. She marveled now that she could never remember seeing her parents kiss, really kiss, in front of her. Nor, had she ever seen her mother cry. Now she found that amazing.

She had grown up with Fred, had attended the same grammar school, the same high school, never having taken notice of him, until their third year of college. He had asked her out and she had accepted. She hadn't cared much for dating and was beginning to wonder about herself. She had had a good time with Fred and had ended the summer by announcing her engagement to him. She laughed now, bitterly, about their dates. He had never taken her out 'petting', had never tried to handle her as some of her one shot dates from college had done. She had appreciated that at the time, but now that she reflected upon it, she wondered about it. Why? Why hadn't he tried to make her, just as all the other boys had?

He respected her too much, she decided. That had to be it. After all, he had known her all his life, their parents had known each other, so it stood to reason that he wasn't going to come howling into his own neighborhood and rape his fiancee. No, not Fred.

Even her plans for and the wedding itself were without emotion. She had felt curious at the time about herself, why she wasn't like the other girls squealing and giggling and bragging about their future husband, their families, their potential income, and their love life. No, not her. She and Fred had planned the first five years of their marriage down to the last day months before they were married.

She hadn't felt love for him, not as she supposed that she was meant to feel, but she had wanted to be married to him, to share his life. That, she told herself, she was doing. What little living he did, that is. So she had to admit to herself that she was just as cold and calculating as he was or wasn't depending on how one viewed their situation. She didn't really suppose that he felt any different about her than she did about him.

It seemed ironic to Marily that the first two years of what she had come to call their 'five year plan' had come off rather smoothly. They had lived in the city in a cramped apartment for the first two years. Both of them had worked and saved their money, all of her checks going into the bank for a down payment on their home in suburbia, and, Fred had done well with the firm, had entrenched himself, was on the ladder up. All just as they had planned. In six months he would plant the seed that would bring forth their child nine months after that. They would have another, but only one more, during the next five years, depending on Fred's advancement in the firm. The very coldness of it made her shiver. But, on the other hand, she was somehow upsetting the first five year plan. She almost laughed.

The following morning Marily went into the garden for her first cigarette of the day, but she stayed under the eyes of the house. She did not venture into the patio, did not inspect the plants, look at the rose buds nor notice the snails that crawled about. She found that she was extremely nervous, that all her instincts had somehow deserted her. She took a deep inhalation of smoke, slowly let it out, then breathed deeply. It did not help. She was still jumpy.

She went back to the kitchen, took her place at the table, put the toast in the toaster, then poured the coffee. Her husband came through the door as she was pouring his coffee. He took his seat across from her, then said, "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. I suppose so. Fred… I," she paused, unable to go on, not knowing what she wanted to say, or how she wanted to say it.

"You're still upset this morning. I don't understand it, Marily. What is it?" He seemed genuinely concerned.

"I don't know. I… I don't want to stay home today. I want to go somewhere, anywhere," she blurted.

"Marily," he said tiredly, "You're free to go anywhere you like but it isn't your day for shopping, not your day for the library, and I don't know where else you would want to go. Why don't you get to know your neighbors? We've been here for two months now and you still don't know anyone to talk to."

She wanted to laugh. She knew one neighbor very, very well, more than he would ever be able to believe, but she couldn't tell him that.

"There must be some clubs in the neighborhood for women. Where they sew or talk or read or something. Isn't there?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Marily, I want to tell you something. I have a surprise. I was going to tell you last night but… I didn't. Old man Callan is sending me to Chicago. I leave Friday and I'll be there until Wednesday of next week! How about that?" He smiled.

"That's wonderful, Fred. Am I going, also?" she looked across the table hopefully at him. Perhaps this would give her a few days away from this place and a chance to collect her scattered thoughts.

"No. As a junior executive, Marily, I'm very lucky to be getting the chance, the opportunity, to represent the company on such a big deal. I couldn't very well ask that they pay your way and your expenses, too." He seemed hurt she wasn't ecstatic over his good luck.

"But what will I do here?" she asked bitterly, almost crying. She wanted to tell him about Peter, almost started to, but she knew that as far as he was concerned the discussion was closed. He wouldn't consider her, not with such an unexpected bit of luck presenting itself. He didn't answer. She supposed that he already had, in a sense, by quizzing her about the clubs in the area. Damn him, if that's all he cared about then maybe he deserved having an unfaithful wife. Maybe he deserved everything he would get, or she would get, she mused wryly. As soon as Fred left for work Marily made a decision. She dressed and went to the store. She purchased a bottle of gin, asked the clerk for a good bottle of vermouth, and a bottle of small olives. Then she went to the grocery store, bought enough meat for sandwiches, then went home. She was nervous but determined.

At 12:20 she looked at the clock in the kitchen and almost cried. She couldn't remember what time he, Peter, had presented himself in the garden yesterday, but she felt certain that it had been before 12:20. She drank a cup of coffee, walked about the living room, then the thought occurred to her that perhaps she should be out in the garden. No. She would never permit him to think – to know – that she was waiting for him, could not ever let him know that she was looking forward to seeing him again. How then, she wondered, was she to explain the pitcher of martinis? The prepared sandwiches? She felt as though she were losing her mind. She went to the kitchen, poured herself a martini and drank it straight down.