"There's a cheese roll in the refrigerator," Joanna said.
Walter came in, looking very handsome in his plaid jacket, carrying the ice bucket. "We're in luck," he said, going to the refrigerator. "There's a good Creature Feature; Pete doesn't even want to come down. I put the Sony in his room." He opened the freezer section and took out a bag of ice cubes.
"Mary just told me the Men's Association is new," Joanna said.
"It's not new," Walter said, tearing at the top of the bag. A white dab of tissue clung to his jawbone, pinned by a dot of dried blood.
"Six or seven years," Mary said.
"Where we come from that's old."
Joanna said, "I thought it went back to the Puritans."
"What gave you that idea?" Walter asked, spilling ice cubes into the bucket.
She tossed the salad. "I don't know," she said. "The way it's set up, and that old house…"
"That was the Terhune place," Mary said, laying a stretch of plastic over the toothpicked platter. "They got it dirt-cheap. Auctioned for taxes and no one else bid."
The party was a disaster. Lucy Ferrault was allergic to something and never stopped sneezing; Sylvia was preoccupied; Bobbie, whom Joanna had counted on as a conversational star, had laryngitis. Charmaine was Miss Vamp, provocative and come-hithery in floor-length white silk cut clear to her navel; Dave and Shep were provoked and went thither. Walter (damn him!) talked law in the comer with Don Ferrault. Ed Wimperis-big, fleshy, well tailored, stewed-talked television, clamping Joanna's arm and explaining in slow careful words why cassettes were going to change everything. At the dinner table Sylvia got unpreoccupied and tore into suburban communities that enriched themselves with tax-yielding light industry while fortressing themselves with two- and four-acre zoning. Ed Wimperis knocked his wine over. Joanna tried to get light conversation going, and Bobbie pitched in valiantly, gasping an explanation of where the laryngitis had come from: she was doing tape-recordings for a friend of Dave's who "thinks Vs a bleedin'
'Enry Iggins, 'e does." But Charmaine, who knew the man and had taped for him herself, cut her short with "Never make fun of what a Capricorn's doing; they produce," and went into an around-the-table sign analysis that demanded everyone's attention. The roast was overdone, and Walter had a bad time slicing it. The souff16 rose, but not quite as much as it should have-as Mary remarked while serving it. Lucy Ferrault sneezed.
"Never again," Joanna said as she switched the outside lights off; and Walter, yawning, said, "Soon enough for me."
"Listen, you," she said. "How could you stand there talking to Don while three women are sitting like stones on the sofa?"
SYLVIA CALLED TO APOLOGIZE – she had been passed up for a promotion she damn well knew she deserved-and Charmaine called to say they'd had a great time and to postpone a tentative Tuesday tennis date. "Ed's got a bee in his bonnet," she said. "He's taking a few days off, we're putting Merrill with the DaCostas-you don't know them, lucky you-and he and I are going to 'rediscover each other.' That means he chases me around the bed. And my period's not till next week, God damn it."
"Why not let him catch you?" Joanna said.
"Oh God," Charmaine said. "Look, I just don't enjoy having a big cock shoved into me, that's all. Never have and never will. And I'm not a lez either, because I tried it and that's no big deal. I'm just not interested in sex. I don't think any woman is, really, not even Pisces women. Are you?"
"Well I'm not a nympho," Joanna said, "but I'm interested in it, sure I am."
'Really, or do you just feel you're supposed to be?"
"Really."
"Well, to each his own," Charmaine said. "Let's make it Thursday, all right? He's got a conference he can't get out of, thank God."
"Okay, Thursday, unless something comes up."
"Don't let anything."
"It's getting cold."
"We'll wear sweaters."
SHE WENT TO A P.T.A. MEETING. Pete's and Kim's teachers were there, Miss Turner and Miss Gair, pleasant middle-aged women eagerly responsive to her questions about teaching methods and how the busing program was working out. The meeting was poorly attended; aside from the group of teachers at the back of the auditorium, there were only nine women and about a dozen men. The president of the association was an attractive blond woman named Mrs. Hollingsworth, who conducted business with smiling unhurried efficiency.
She bought winter clothes for Pete and Kim, and two pairs of wool slacks for herself. She made terrific enlargements of "Off Duty" and "The Stepford Library," and took Pete and Kim to Dr. Coe, the dentist.
"DID WE?" CHARMAINE ASKED, letting her into the house.
"Of course we did," she said. "I said it was okay if nothing came up."
Charmaine closed the door and smiled at her. She was wearing an apron over slacks and a blouse. "Gosh, I'm sorry, Joanna," she said. "I completely forgot."
"That's all right," she said, "go change."
"We can't play," Charmaine said. "For one thing, I've got too much work to do-"
"Work?"
"Housework."
Joanna looked at her.
"We've let Nettie go," Charmaine said. "It's absolutely unbelievable, the sloppy job she was getting away with. The place looks clean at first glance, but boy, look in the corners. I did the kitchen and the dining room yesterday, but I've still got all the other rooms. Ed shouldn't have to live with dirt."
Joanna, looking at her, said, "Okay, funny joke."
"I'm not joking," Charmaine said. "Ed's a pretty wonderful guy, and I've been lazy and selfish. I'm through playing tennis, and I'm through reading those astrology books. From now on I'm going to do right by Ed, and by Merrill too. I'm lucky to have such a wonderful husband and son."
Joanna looked at the pressed and covered racket in her hand, and at Charmaine. "That's great," she said, and smiled. "But I honestly can't believe you're giving up tennis."
"Go look," Charmaine said.
Joanna looked at her.
"Go look," Charmaine said.
Joanna turned and went into the living room and across it to the glass doors. She slid one open, hearing Charmaine behind her, and went out onto the terrace. She crossed the terrace and looked down the slope of flagstone-pathed lawn.
A truck piled with sections of mesh fencing stood on the tire-marked grass beside the tennis court. Two sides of the court's fence were gone, and the other two lay flat on the grass, a long side and a short one. Two men kneeled on the long side, working at it with long-handled cutters. They brought the handles up and together, and clicks of sound followed. A mountain of dark soil sat on the center of the court; the net and the posts were gone.
"Ed wants a putting green," Charmaine said, coming to Joanna's side.
"It's a clay court!" Joanna said, turning to her.
"It's the only level place we've got," Charmaine said.
"My God," Joanna said, looking at the men working the cutter handles.
"That's crazy, Charmaine!"