Ira Levin - The Stepford Wives

And it would have to cost no more than the fifty-two-five they had paid (and could still get, Walter was sure) for the Stepford house.

A tall order, and she wasn't going to waste too much time trying to fill it. But she went out looking with Bobbie one cold bright early-December morning.

Bobbie was looking every morning-in Norwood, Eastbridge, and New Sharon. As soon as she found something right-and she was far more flexible in her demands than Joanna-she was going to pressure Dave for an immediate move, despite the boys' having to change schools in the middle of the year.

"Better a little disruption in their lives than a zombie-ized mother," she said. She really was drinking bottled water, and wasn't eating any locally grown produce. "You can buy bottled oxygen, you know," Joanna said.

"Screw you. I can see you now, comparing Ajax to your present cleanser."

The looking inclined Joanna to look more; the women they met-Eastbridge homeowners and a realestate broker named Miss Kirgassa-were alert, lively, and quirky, confirming by contrast the blandness of Stepford women. And Eastbridge offered a wide range of community activities, for women and for men and women. There was even a NOW chapter in formation. "Why didn't you look here first?" Miss Kirgassa asked, rocketing her car down a zigzag road at terrifying speed.

"My husband had heard-" Joanna said, clutching the armrest, watching the road, tramping on wished-for brakes.

"It's dead there. We're much more with-it."

"We'd like to get back there to pack though," Bobbie said from in back.

Miss Kirgassa brayed a laugh. "I can drive these roads blindfolded," she said. "I want to show you two more places after this one."

On the way back to Stepford, Bobbie said, "That's for me. I'm going to be a broker, I just decided. You get out, you meet people, and you get to look in everyone's closets. And you can set your own hours. I mean it, I'm going to find out what the requirements are."

They got a letter from the Department of Health, two pages long. It assured them that their interest in environmental protection was shared by both their state and county governments. Industrial installations throughout the state were subject to stringent anti-pollutionary regulations such as the following. These were enforced not only by frequent inspection of the installations themselves, but also by regular examination of soil, water, and air samples. There was no indication whatsoever of harmful pollution in the Stepford area, nor of any naturally occurring chemical presence that might produce a tranquilizing or depressant effect. They could rest assured that their concern was groundless, but their letter was appreciated nonetheless.

"Bullshit," Bobbie said, and stayed with the bottled water. She brought a thermos of coffee with her whenever she came to Joanna's.

WALTER WAS LYING ON HIS side, facing away from her, when she came out of the bathroom. She sat down on the bed, turned the lamp off, and got in under the blanket. She lay on her back and watched the ceiling take shape over her.

"Walter?" she said.

"Was that any good?" she asked. "For you?"

"Sure it was," he said. "Wasn't it for you?"

"Yes," she said.

He didn't say anything.

"I've had the feeling that it hasn't been," she said. "Good for you. The last few times."

"No," he said. "It's been fine. Just like always."

She lay seeing the ceiling. She thought of Charmaine, who wouldn't let Ed catch her (or had she changed in that too?), and she remembered Bobbie's remark about Dave's odd ideas.

"Good night," Walter said.

"Is there anything," she asked, "that I-don't do that you'd like me to do? Or that I do do that you'd like me not to?

He didn't say anything, and then be said, "Whatever you want to do, that's all." He turned over and looked at her, up on his elbow. "Really," he said, and smiled, "it's fine. Maybe I've been a little tired lately because of the commuting." He kissed her cheek. "Go to sleep," he said.

"Are you-having an affair with Esther?"

"Oh for God's sake," he said. "She's going with a Black Panther. I'm not having an affair with anybody."

"A Black Panther?"

"That's what Don's secretary told him. We don't even talk about sex; all I do is correct her spelling. Come on, let's get to sleep." He kissed her cheek and turned away from her.

She turned over onto her stomach and closed her eyes. She shifted and stirred, trying to settle herself comfortably.

THEY WENT TO A MOVIE IN Norwood with Bobbie and Dave, and spent an evening with them in front of the fire, playing Monopoly kiddingly.

A heavy snow fell on a Saturday night, and Walter gave up his Sunday-afternoon football-watching, not very happily, to take Pete and Kim sledding on Winter Hill while she drove to New Sharon and shot a roll and a half of color in a bird sanctuary.

Pete got the lead in his class Christmas play; and Walter, on the way home one night, either lost his wallet or had his pocket picked.

She brought sixteen photos in to the agency. Bob Silverberg, the man she dealt with there, admired them gratifyingly but told her that the agency wasn't signing contracts with anybody at that time. He kept the photos, saying he would let her know in a day or two whether he felt any of them were marketable. She had lunch, disappointedly, with an old friend, Doris Lombardo, and did some Christmas shopping for Walter and her parents.

TEN OF THE PICTURES CAME back, including "Off Duty," which she decided at once she would enter in the next Saturday Review contest. Among the six the agency had kept and would handle was "Student," the one of Jonny Markowe at his microscope. She called Bobbie and told her. "I'll give him ten per cent of whatever it makes," she said.

"Does that mean we can stop giving him allowance?"

"You'd better not. My best one's made a little over a thousand so far, but the other two have only made about two hundred each."

"Well that's not bad for a kid who looks like Peter Lorre," Bobbie said.

"Him I mean, not you. Listen, I was going to call you. Can you take Adam for the weekend? Would you?"

"Sure," she said. "Pete and Kim would love it. Why?"

"Dave's had a brainstorm; we're going to have a weekend alone, just the two of us. Second-honeymoon time."

A sense of beforeness touched her; d6jh vu. She brushed it away. "That's great," she said.

"We've got Jonny and Kenny booked in the neighborhood," Bobbie said, "but I thought Adam would have a better time at your place."

"Sure," Joanna said, "it'll make it easier to keep Pete and Kim out of each other's hair. What are you doing, going into the city?"

"No, just staying here. And getting snowed in, we hope.

I'll bring him over tomorrow after school, okay? And pick him up late Sunday."

"Fine. How's the house-hunting?"

"Not so good. I saw a beauty in Norwood this morning, but they're not getting out till April first."

"So stick around."

"No, thanks. Want to get together?"

"I can't; I've got to do some cleaning. Really."

"You see? You're changing. That Stepford magic is starting to work."

A BLACK WOMAN in an orange scarf and striped fake-fur coat stood waiting at the library desk, her fingertips resting on a stack of books. She glanced at Joanna and nodded with a near-smile; Joanna nodded and near-smiled back; and the black woman looked away-at the empty chair behind the desk, and the bookshelves behind the chair. She was tall and tan-skinned, with close-cropped black hair and large dark eyes-exoticlooking and attractive.

About thirty.

Joanna, going to the desk, took her gloves off and got the postcard out of her pocket. She looked at Miss Austrian's namestand on the desk, and at the books under the long slim fingers of the black woman a few feet away. A Severed Head by Iris Murdoch, with I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and The Magus underneath it. Joanna looked at the postcard; Skinner, Beyond Freedom amp; Dignity would be held for her until 12/11. She wanted to say something friendly and welcoming-the woman was surely the wife or daughter of the black family the Welcome Wagon lady had mentioned-but she didn't want to be white- liberal patronizing. Would she say something if the woman weren't black? Yes, in a situation like this she would.