Ira Levin: The Stepford Wives

The rock music blared louder. "What's going on upstairs?" Joanna asked.

"I don't know," Bobbie said. "Dave has the boys up there. Come here. You can't see."

The knife was large, its blade pointed. "You'll amputate your whole hand with that thing," Joanna said.

"I'll be careful," Bobbie said, smiling. "Come on." She beckoned, holding the large knife.

Joanna raised her head from the jamb, and took her hand from it. She went into the kitchen-so shining and immaculate, so un-Bobbie-like.

She stopped. The music is in case I scream, she thought. She isn't going to cut her finger; she's going to- "Come on," Bobbie said, standing by the sink, beckoning, holding the point-bladed knife.

Not catastrophic, Dr. Fancher? Thinking they're robots not women? Thinking Bobbie would kill me? Are you sure you can help me?

"You don't have to do it, she said to Bobbie.

"It'll ease your mind," Bobbie said.

"I'm seeing a shrink after New Year's," she said. "That'll ease my mind.

At least I hope it will."

"Come on," Bobbie said. "The men are waiting."

Joanna went forward, toward Bobbie standing by the sink with the knife in her hand, so real-looking-skin, eyes, hair, hands, rising-falling aproned bosom-that she couldn't be a robot, she simply couldn't be, and that was all there was to it.

THE MEN STOOD ON THE doorstep, blowing out steamy breath, their hands deep in their pockets. Frank hipped from side to side with the beat of the loud rock music.

Bernie said, "What's taking so long?"

Wynn and Frank shrugged.

The rock music blared.

Wynn said, "I'm going to call Walter and tell him we found her." He went into the house.

"Get Dave's car keys!" Frank called after him.

THE MARKET PARKING LOT was pretty well filled, but she found a good place up near the front; and that, plus the sun's warmth and the moist sweet smell of the air when she got out of the car, made her feel less bothered about having to be shopping. A little less bothered, anyway.

Miss Austrian came limping and caning toward her from the market's entrance, with a small paper bag in her hand and-she didn't believe it-a friendly smile on her Queenof-Hearts white face. For her? "Good morning, Mrs. Hendry," Miss Austrian said.

What do you know, black is bearable. "Good morning," she said.

"March is certainly going out like a lamb, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said. "It seemed like it was going to be a twoheaded lion."

Miss Austrian stopped and stood looking at her. "You haven't been in the library in months," she said. "I hope we haven't lost you to television."

"Oh no, not me," she said, smiling. "I've been working."

"On another book?"

"Yes.

"Good. Let me know when it's going to be published; we'll order a copy."

"I will," she said. "And I'll be in soon. I'm almost done with it."

"Have a good day," Miss Austrian said, smiling and caning away, "Thanks. You too."

Well, there was one sale.

Maybe she'd been hypersensitive. Maybe Miss Austrian was cold to whites too until they'd been there a few months.

She went through the market's opening-by-themselves doors and found an empty cart. The aisles were the usual Saturday morning parade.

She went quickly, taking what she needed, maneuvering the cart in and out and around. "Excuse me. Excuse me, please." It still bugged her the way they shopped so languidly, gliding along as if they never sweated. How white could you get? Even filling their carts just so! She could shop the whole market in the time they did one aisle.

Joanna Eberhart came toward her, looking terrific in a tightly belted pale blue coat. She had a fine figure and was prettier than Ruthanne remembered, her dark hair gleaming in graceful drawn-back wings. She came along slowly, looking at the shelves.

"Hello, Joanna," Ruthanne said.

Joanna stopped and looked at her with thick-lashed brown eyes. "Ruthanne," she said, and smiled. "Hello. How are you?" Her bow lips were red, her complexion pale rose and perfect.

"I'm fine," Ruthanne said, smiling. "I don't have to ask how you are; you look marvelous."

"Thanks," Joanna said. "I've been taking better care of myself lately."

"It certainly shows," Ruthanne said.

"I'm sorry I haven't called you," Joanna said.

"Oh that's all right." Ruthanne hitched her cart over in front of Joanna's so people could get by them.

"I meant to," Joanna said, "but there's been so much to do around the house.

You know how it is."

"That's all right," Ruthanne said. "I've been busy too. I'm almost done with my book. Just one more main drawing and a few small ones."

"Congratulations," Joanna said.

"Thanks," Ruthanne said. "What have you been up to? Have you taken any interesting pictures?"

"Oh no," Joanna said. "I don't do much photography any more."

"You don't?" Ruthanne said.

"No," Joanna said. "I wasn't especially talented, and I was wasting a lot of time I really have better uses for."

Ruthanne looked at her.

"I'll call you one of these days when I get caught up with things,"

Joanna said, smiling.

"What are you doing then, besides your housework?" Ruthanne asked her.

"Nothing, really," Joanna said. "Housework's enough for me. I used to feel I had to have other interests, but I'm more at ease with myself now.

I'm much happier too, and so is my family. That's what counts, isn't it?"

"Yes, I guess so," Ruthanne said. She looked down at their carts, her own jumble-filled one against Joanna~s neatly filled one. She hitched hers out of Joanna's way. "Maybe we can have that lunch," she said, looking at Joanna. "Now that I'm finishing the book."

"Maybe we can," Joanna said. "It was nice seeing you."

"Same here," Ruthanne said.

Joanna, smiling, walked away-and stopped, took a box from a shelf, looked at it, and fitted it down into her cart. She went away down the market aisle.

Ruthanne stood watching her, and turned and went on in the other direction.

SHE COULDN'T GET TO WORK. She paced and turned in the close-walled room; looked out the window at Chickie and Sara playing with the Cohane girls; leafed through the stack of finished drawings and found them not as amusing and skillful as she'd thought they were.

When she finally got going on Penny at the wheel of the Bertha P. Moran, it was practically five o'clock.

She went down to the den.

Royal sat reading Men in Groups, his feet in blue socks on the hassock.

He looked up at her. "Done?" he asked. He had fixed the frame of his glasses with adhesive tape.

"Hell, no," she said. "I just got started."

"How come?"

"I don't know," she said. "Something's been bugging me. Listen, would you do me a favor? Now that it's moving I want to stay with it."

"Supper?" he said.

She nodded. "Would you take them to the pizza place? Or to McDonald's?"

He took his pipe from the table. "All right," he said.

"I want to get it done with," she said. "Otherwise I won't enjoy next weekend."

He laid the open book down across his lap and took his pipe-cleaning gadget from the table.

She turned to go, and looked back at him. "You sure you don't mind?" she asked.

He twisted the gadget back and forth in the pipe bowl. "Sure," he said.

"Stay with it." He looked up at her and smiled. "I don't mind," he said.

COMPLETED IN FEBRUARY, 1972,

IN NEW YORK CITY,

AND DEDICATED TO ELLIE AND JOE BUSMAN