Ira Levin - The Stepford Wives

"No, don't bother," Bobbie said. She turned Adam around and helped him with his buttons.

"You smell nice," he said.

"Thanks, gumdrop."

He looked at the ceiling and at her. "I don't like you to call me that," he said. "I used to, but now I don't."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I won't do it again." She smiled at him and kissed him on the forehead.

Walter and Dave came out of the living room, and Adam picked up his shopping bag and said good-by to Pete and Kim. Joanna gave Adam's boots to Bobbie and touched cheeks with her. Bobbie's was still cool from outside, and she did smell nice. "Speak to you tomorrow," Joanna said.

"Sure," Bobbie said. They smiled at each other. Bobbie moved to Walter at the door and offered her cheek. He hesitated-Joanna wondered why-and pecked it.

Dave kissed Joanna, clapped Walter on the arm-"So long, buddy"-and steered Adam out after Bobbie.

"Can we go in the family room now?" Pete asked.

"It's all yours," Walter said.

Pete ran away and Kim ran after him.

Joanna and Walter stood at the cold glass of the storm door, looking out at Bobbie and Dave and Adam getting into their car.

"Fantastic," Walter said.

"Don't they look great?" Joanna said. "Bobbie didn't even look that good at the party. Why didn't you want to kiss her?"

Walter didn't say anything, and then he said, "Oh, I don't know, cheek-kissing. It's so damn show-business."

"I never noticed you objecting before."

"Then I've changed, I guess," he said.

She watched the car doors close, and its headlights flash on. "How about us having a weekend alone?" she said. "They'll take Pete, they said they would, and I'm sure the Van Sants would take Kim."

"T'hat'd be great," he said. "Right after the holidays."

"Or maybe the Hendrys," she said. "They've got a sixyear-old girl, and I'd like Kim to get to know a black family."

The car pulled away, red taillights shining, and Walter closed the door and locked it and thumbed down the switch of the outside lights. "Want a drink?" he asked.

"And how," Joanna said. "I need one after today."

UGH, WHAT A MONDAY: PETE'S room to be reassembled and all the others straightened out, the beds to be changed, washing (and she'd let it pile up, of course), tomorrow's shopping list to make up, and three pairs of Pete's pants to be lengthened. That was what she was doing; never mind what else had to be done-the Christmas shopping, and the Christmas-card addressing, and making Pete's costume for the play (thanks for that, Miss Turner). Bobbie didn't call, thank goodness; this wasn't a day for kaffee-kiatsching. Is she right? Joanna wondered. Am I changing? Hell, no; the housework had to be caught up with once in a while, otherwise the place would turn into-well, into Bobbie's place. Besides, a real Stepford wife would sail through it all very calmly and efficiently, not running the vacuum cleaner over its cord and then mashing her fingers getting the cord out from around the damn roller thing.

She gave Pete hell about not putting toys away when he was done playing with them, and he sulked for an hour and wouldn't talk to her. And Kim was coughing.

And Walter begged off his turn at K.P. and ran out to get into Herb Sundersen's full car. Busy time at the Men's Association; the Christmas-Toys project. (Who for? Were there needy children in Stepford?

She'd seen no sign of any.)

She cut a sheet to start Pete's costume, a snowman, and played a game of Concentration with him and Kim (who only coughed once but keep the fingers crossed); and then she addressed Christmas cards down through the L's and went to bed at ten. She fell asleep with the Skinner book.

Tuesday was better. When she had cleaned up the breakfast mess and made the beds, she called Bobbie-no answer; she was house-hunting-and drove to the Center and did the week's main marketing. She went to the Center again after lunch, took pictures of the cr6che, and got home just ahead of the school bus.

Walter did the dishes and then went to the Men's Association. The toys were for kids in the city, ghetto kids and kids in hospitals. Complain about that, Ms. Eberhart. Or would she still be Ms. Ingalls? Ms.

Ingalls-Eberhart?

After she got Pete and Kim bathed and into bed she called Bobbie. It was odd that Bobbie hadn't called her in two full days.

"Hello?" Bobbie said. "Long time no speak."

"Who's this?"

"Joanna."

"Oh, hello," Bobbie said. "How are you?" "Fine. Are you? You sound sort of blah." "No, I'm fine," Bobbie said. "Any luck this morning?" "What do you mean?" "House-hunting." "I went shopping this morning," Bobbie said. "Why didn't you call me?" "I went very early."

"I went around ten; we must have just missed each other." Bobbie didn't say anything. "Bobbie?"

"Yes?" "Are you sure you're okay?" "Positive.

I'm in the middle of some ironing."

"At this hour?" "Dave needs a shirt for tomorrow." "Oh. Call me in the morning then; maybe we can have lunch. Unless you're going house-hunting." "I'm not," Bobbie said.

"Call me then, okay?"

"Okay," Bobbie said. "'By, Joanna." "Good-by."

She hung up and sat looking at the phone and her hand on it. The thought struck her-ridiculously-that Bobbie had changed the way Charmaine had. No, not Bobbie; impossible. She must have had a fight with Dave, a major one that she wasn't ready to talk about yet. Or could she herself have offended Bobbie in some way without being aware of it? Had she said something Sunday about Adam's stay-over that Bobbie might have misinterpreted?

But no, they'd parted as friendly as ever, touching cheeks and saying they'd speak to each other. (Yet even then, now that she thought about it, Bobbie had seemed different; she-hadn't said the sort of things she usually did, and she'd moved more slowly too.) Maybe she and Dave had been smoking pot over the weekend. They'd tried it a couple of times without much effect, Bobbie had said. Maybe this time…

She addressed a few Christmas cards.

She called Ruthanne Hendry, who was friendly and glad to hear from her.

They talked about The Magus, which Ruthanne was enjoying as much as Joanna had, and Ruthanne told her about her new book, another Penny story. They agreed to have lunch together the following week. Joanna would speak to Bobbie, and the three of them would go to the French place in Eastbridge. Ruthanne would call her Monday morning.

She addressed Christmas cards, and read the Skinner book in bed until Walter came home. "I spoke to Bobbie tonight," she said. "She sounded-different, washed out."

"She's probably tired from all that running around she's been doing,"

Walter said, emptying his jacket pockets onto the bureau.

"She seemed different Sunday too," Joanna said. "She didn't say-"

"She had some make-up on, that's all," Walter said. "You're not going to start in with that chemical business, are you?"

She frowned, pressing the closed book to her blanketed knees. "Did Dave say anything about their trying pot again?" she asked.

"No," Walter said, "but maybe that's the answer."

They made love, but she was tense and couldn't really give herself, and it wasn't very good.

BOBBIE DIDN'T CALL. Around one o'clock Joanna drove over. The dogs barked at her as she got out of the station wagon. They were chained to an overhead line behind the house, the corgi up on his hind legs, pawing air and yipping, the sheepdog standing shaggy and stock-still, barking "Ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff." Bobbie's blue Chevy stood in the driveway.

Bobbie, in her immaculate living room-cushions an fluffed, woodwork gleaming, magazines fanned on the polished table behind the sofa-smiled at Joanna and said, "I'm sorry, I was so busy it slipped my mind. Have you had lunch? Come on into the kitchen. I'll fix you a sandwich. What would you like?"