David Gates - Preston Falls

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She starts picking the whites out of the bag and sticking them in the washer, setting Mel's jeans aside to see if she can't do something about those grass stains. She pours in a capful of Tide with Bleach Alternative — Willis did one of his little riffs the first time he lifted that out of a grocery bag, but she actually can tell a difference — and turns the washer on. She puts the Rubbermaid flap over the drain in the deep sink, checks the label on the Clorox jug, runs what she estimates is a gallon of water, puts on a yellow rubber glove and pours in a quarter cup of Clorox and swooshes it around with her gloved hand. That smell: like a man's, you know, stuff. From what she can remember. Out of the dim distant past. With the gloved hand, she pushes Mel's jeans down under, as if she's drowning something. Fully soak garment for ^ minutes. She turns the jeans over so at least the rear end will be fully soaked. Now, what to do with her big five minutes? Well, she could go up and check on their homework, which is what she said she'd do.

The upstairs door opens, and Carol calls, "Are you down there?"

"Yeah. What?"

"Stay right there, I have to ask you something." She comes clomping down the cellar stairs, carrying The Fellowship of the Ring with her index finger stuck in it.

"Right here," says Carol, pointing to a page. "How do you say this?"

"I think it's Ay-ar-an-dil," says Jean.

"Not Eer-an-dil, right?"

"No, I think the thing over the a means they want you to. . you know."

"I thought so," says Carol. "Okay, and another thing. Is it Jimli or Gimli?''

"Gimli," Jean says. "I think. God. I seem to remember they had a pronunciation thing in there somewhere."

"Right, I found that, and they say gs are supposed to be hard. But Roger says you're supposed to say Sam Gamjee and not Gam-gee, so it's confusing. Oh, and they also say in there — this is really weird — that /'s are supposed to be like v's. So you're actually supposed to say Gandalv? I'm not going to go around saying Gandalv."

"Don't let Roger nitpick you to death. He should be grateful that you're nice enough to read to him."

"Oh, I'm enjoying it. People in college always used to try to get me into it, but I was sort of too stoned to read? And then when Dexter was the right age, you couldn't really get him to sit still that long."

PRESTON FALLS

"Well, good. I'm glad you're having a good time with it. I don't know, it seemed okay back when Willis read it to Mel, but this time it just feels like eight zillion pages of male bonding. I think you get the first woman character on like page nine hundred."

"Well, Goldberry," says Carol.

"Oh, right. God forbid we should forget Go/^berry."

"Listen, would it be okay if I wrote in it? I just thought I'd try to mark a couple of things ahead so I can breeze through when I get to them and not embarrass myself."

"You're making too big a deal out of this," says Jean. "He's not being snotty to you, is he?"

"Not really. It's actually fun, in a weird way. Kind of like going back to school."

"Well, I hope he appreciates it."

Carol snorts. "Come on, you can't expect that. When they're forty, maybe, you might hear that you once did something right. If you're still alive. Tell me something: what are you doing tomorrow after work?"

"What am I doing? What I always do. Come home, eat, have two minutes with Mel and Roger, do housework, go to bed. Why?"

"Well. I have an idea, okay? If the kids could go over to What's-their-face, Mel's friend?"

"TheMiUers'?"

"Right. If they could go over there after school and stay for dinner, could you get off work early and meet me? Or Thursday, if tomorrow doesn't work?"

"I thought you had to leave this week."

"Come on, with everything just hanging like this?"

"I can make out," says Jean.

"We'll talk about that too. But listen, could you try for tomorrow? This is something that might really end up helping. I have to make some arrangements, but I'll call you at work tomorrow and let you know for sure."

"I love surprises," says Jean.

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't mean to make a big mystery, but I just feel like this is the best way to do it, okay? Trust me?"

"I guess," says Jean. "I'd better try to get hold of Erin's mother right now."

"Good," Carol says. "And I should be able to let you know by

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tomorrow noon if we can actually do this. If not, we'll go out to dinner, just the two of us, how's that?"

Jean calls Rosellen Miller [Always glad to have Mel and Roger! Erin will be thrilled\), then goes back down to check the laundry, and settles in the old stuffed armchair that was in the basement when they bought the place. God, Carol can be wearing. And whatever this scheme of hers is about — well, she'll find out tomorrow. Or not. The chair smells musty and has white stuff showing through the arms, but really this is the most comfortable place to sit in the whole house. Jean used to think about having it reupholstered and bringing it upstairs, except she was afraid that might somehow ruin it. So this is one of her secrets; she always keeps a book down here next to the chair to read while she's doing laundry, something she reads nowhere else. She reaches down and picks up Rex Stout's The Father Hunt, which she's been working on now for a couple of weeks. The part she's in now, Nero and Archie are finding out that Eugene Jarrett can't be the father because he's sterile, though you already sort of knew he couldn't be anyway because it was too obvious.

She feels her head start to go forward and down onto her right shoulder; as the muscles relax, they give her back a twinge, and she realizes she was almost asleep. She's got to stay awake to put in fabric softener. But she's already drifting again, remembering she once heard that if you want to bend wood you can soak it in fabric softener and it gets limp as an egg noodle; and then something about putting jeans in to soak; and then she pictures letters peeling up off the page of a book she's holding down under water and just floating there around her wrists, not spelling anything.

She jumps when Carol puts a hand on her shoulder. "You poor thing, you were sound asleep," says Carol. "Here, let's get you up to bed. I put the clothes in the dryer for you."

As Carol helps her upstairs, Jean is wildly trying to tell her she still has to do a load with colors and she forgot to put in fabric softener and the kids have to do their homework — she told them she'd be right up. Carol says, Shh, it's all taken care of. But what about the pair of jeans in the thing, in the— I found them, Carol says. But the kids— Shh. I put them to bed. Here, let's get your shoes off.

"So: you, me, Cooperman of course," Jerry Starger says to Anita Bruno. "And our designing woman here." He nods at Jean. "Boy girl boy girl. Martha's got the rezzies for us. We see the contractor in the afternoon, scope out the space, chow down, check out the nightlife, breakfast with the bank guy in the morning and we're back in civilization by noon. Questions." Nobody says anything. "The Falcons may be at home tomorrow night, which I'm sure thrills you ladies to the marrow. Martha's checking into this as we speak."

"Seven-foot men in shorts?" says Anita Bruno. "Sweating? I can deal with that."

"This is tomorrow?" says Jean.

"Is that a problem?" Jerry says.

"No, it shouldn't be. My sister's here visiting, and I'm sure she could watch the kids."

"Groovy," he says. "Oh, and Bruno. Just FYI. The Falcons are football? Basketball is the Hawks."

"Shoot," says Anita. "Well, there goes my boy credibility."

"But it's why we love you. You're always in there pitching."

"I live only to impress you, Jerry," she says. "I know I can bounce back from this."