Jack hadn’t been able
to sleep, as usual. He’d had another night wrestling with Lorna’s unforgiving
habits. With the air conditioner set at sixty-six degrees, they started the
night with two blankets. Within an hour, Lorna wrapped most of them over her and
left Jack shivering and tugging for his share. After another hour, she’d unload
the bedclothes onto him, leaving him to wake in a cocoon of her sweat. As if
this weren’t bad enough, Lorna took up snoring, a new habit: loud, congested
huffs. On the worst nights, Jack gave up
and moved to the family room couch, taking half the dampened blankets with him.
Goddamned menopause, Jack thought. He resented that he suffered its symptoms
along with his wife.
At his weekly IHOP breakfast with Bud, Jack lamented his
sleeplessness. “It’s menopause Jack,” Bud said matter-of-factly. “It’s
not about you. I remember when Judy went through it. The last thing you want to
do is complain. Believe me,” he said as he leaned across the table and lowered
his voice. Bud’s white hair dropped over his eyebrows as he tilted his head in
a conspiratorial gaze. Jack silently compared his dull gray hair and thinning
pate to his friend’s hair, thick loose curls that made the ladies take a second
look. If Bud weren’t his best friend, he’d resent him.
“So, speaking from your experience, Bud, when do things get back on
track? You know, back to normal?” Jack asked.
Bud shoveled a large forkful of pancake into his mouth, the syrup
dribbling down his chin. As he dragged
the paper napkin across his face, he spoke as he chewed. “Normal? If you mean
like before menopause, you’re delusional.”
Jack cleared his throat and refined his question. “What I mean is,
when do the symptoms stop?”
“Hmm. I can’t recall,” Bud said. He tapped his fork on his plate and
looked to the ceiling as if he were trying to find that data point. “Nope. I
don’t know,” he finally said, returning his attention to Jack. “But Judy’s not
the same, even without the symptoms. Still Judy. But different.”
“How so?” Jack asked.
“Lemme think. One thing that sticks out: she started saying things
like ‘you do you.’ I had no idea what
that meant but got the feeling she was telling me she’d be doing Judy with or
without me.”
“Jesus Christ, Bud. How long does this last?”
“I don’t know, pal. How long do you plan to live?”
***
A year ago, Jack and Lorna stopped using the bed for anything but
sleep, and now he couldn’t even count on that. No sleep. No sex. This isn’t how
he planned to spend his golden years. At sixty-five, his libido thinned along
with his hair. But he wasn’t dead. He still had the craving, even though it was
tempered by his stiff knees and the hip that cried for a replacement. But they
could adjust their positions to work with these inconveniences. He printed
options he found
in a link from his AARP magazine. He slid the stack of papers across the
kitchen table one Saturday morning. Lorna flipped through them as the lines in
her forehead deepened. “Really? We’d
have to be contortionists to get into some of these positions.” She pointed to
one of the illustrations. “I’m afraid this one would wrench your back, honey.
And this? Oh, my God, Jack, you can’t be on top. Remember your dislocated
shoulder? I really don’t want to end up in the ER again trying to explain the
injury.” Lorna finished looking through the illustrations, then dropped them on
the table as she closed her eyes and sighed. “Jack, you know what I’m going
through. I’m so goddamned tired, I can’t muster desire right now. Let’s revisit
this when I’ve regained some equilibrium.” Jack stared at the pages on the
table, saying nothing. “When we get there, let’s take another look at the side
effects of the statin, too. I know you’ve had muscle weakness, but I want to be
sure there isn’t anything we can make worse with sex.” Jack gave a conciliatory
nod. He thought marrying a younger woman
would extend his sex life, not turn his trophy wife into a nursing attendant.
***
Jack held up his coffee cup to motion for a refill. He pushed his
half-eaten breakfast to the center of the table and watched Bud, who was fully
engaged with his triple stack of pancakes. “Bud, I don’t want to pry, but I
need a reality check,” Jack said quietly. “Do you and Judy—uh—do you still.
Shit. Never mind.” The waitress arrived with a cheerful ‘there you go,’ as she
refilled Jack’s cup.
Bud used a slice of toast to wipe his plate clean of the syrup and
shoved the bread into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chewed. After he
swallowed the last of it, he sighed. “Damn
that
was good.” Jack nodded, hoping the breakfast was over. “So, where were we,” Bud
said, as Jack slapped his credit card on the table. “You want to know if Judy
and I still do the nasty. Hell yeah. Not as often as we used to, but yeah.” He
punctuated his statement with a loud slurp of his orange juice.
“That’s what I figured. Glad to hear it,” Jack said as he leaned
back and spread his arms across the back of the booth top. “Yep, it looks like
we haven’t lost our animal magnetism.” He picked up his juice glass and raised
it in a silent Bravo.
“Jack, I’ve known you since we were teenagers bragging about sex we
didn’t have. Cut the shit.”
“What?” Jack said, anxiously waving for the waitress.
“I know you, pal. You asked about me and Judy because you’re having
problems with Lorna. In the bedroom.”
Jack dropped his waving arm and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. But nothing I
can’t handle.”
“Right. Sounds like you’re killing it.”
“Shut the fuck up, Bud. Besides, I’m the same man as I’ve always
been, but Lorna. Well, Lorna’s changed.”
“Sure, Jack. Have your pity party if that’s what you want. Or as my
wife would say, you do you.” Bud caught the eye of the waitress and gave the
card-signing signal.
***
That night, Jack migrated to the couch. Once he got settled, he
thought about Mary, the grocery clerk at Shop-N-Save. He was drawn to her
salt-and-pepper hair, always pulled back in a high
ponytail. Lorna kept her hair in a short, professional bob with blonde
highlights. No ponytails for her. Mary’s hair bounced across her back as she
slid groceries over the scanner. She always asked how he was. Jack lied,
claiming he’d just come from a Pilates class or was on his way to the gym. Mary
was impressed with his vigor, her word. Jack noticed she wore a Fitbit.
He got one to have something else to talk about with Mary. When they compared
their step counts, Jack lied and inflated his by many thousand. But he didn’t
lie when Mary asked about his hobby building remote-controlled miniature boats.
He couldn’t remember the last time Lorna asked about his World War II aircraft
carrier. As Mary shuffled his purchases
to the end of the counter, she asked detailed questions, pausing for split
seconds to look at Jack, her coal-dark eyes locked on his fading blue irises.
Jack stopped wearing his wedding ring and told Lorna it had gotten
too tight. Once the tan line evened where the ring had been, he made a point of
using his left hand as he pushed the bachelor-sized groceries across the belt:
single-serving prepared meals, small yogurt cups, two apples, three oranges. He
wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop. Each trip to the
Shop-N-Save left him more obsessed with Mary. Jack blushed when she smiled at
him. Her imperfect teeth, the small gap in the front, the endearing lines at
the edges of her mouth mesmerized him.
Mary responded with a gasping wow when Jack told her his
replica of an aircraft carrier would be permanently displayed in the local
World War II Museum. The Museum Foundation had taken photos as Jack’s work
progressed, documenting the intricacies of the project. “My, tthat
must be an amazing piece of workmanship,” Mary said as she moved his groceries
across the belt and Jack gushed the details of his labor.
“You can come to the launch!” Jack nearly shouted over the beeps
from the scanner. Mary smiled kindly as she nodded toward the payment terminal.
Jack swiped his card, grabbed the bag of groceries and quietly said “I’ll let
you know the date. No pressure. If you’re free, you can come by.” Mary smiled
and quickly turned her attention to the next customer.
***
Two weeks later Jack met Bud for breakfast and told him the date of
the ship launch. “You couldn’t do it on a weekend, Jack?” Bud asked. “More
people could make it. Hell, half our golf group still works. Not to mention,
your wife.”
Jack nodded sympathetically. “I know. It’s too bad. I tried for a
weekend, but the park is booked along the lake for the next few months. And I
had to coordinate with the Foundation. A Tuesday was the best I could do,” Jack
lied. The park administrator had offered the single available Saturday, but
Mary worked two Saturdays a month. She was always off on Tuesdays, and Jack
wanted to be sure she could witness the culmination of his work on the aircraft
carrier.
***
On the morning of the launch, Jack found Lorna in her robe puttering
in the kitchen at 8:30, well past the time she left for the office. “Lorna, are
you okay?” he asked.
“Of course, I’m Okay. I took the morning off.”
“Oh, honey, you didn’t have to do that. It’ll be amateur hour at the
lake.” Jack restrained the panic he felt rising in his voice. “You’ve seen the
ship in the garage for the last year. You probably can’t wait for the damn
thing to get to the Foundation.”
“Jack, you know I would love to see it on the water. And no, I’m not
impatient about getting the monster out of the garage, as much as I might like
you to park your car there.” They smiled, acknowledging their ongoing dialogue
about the wisdom of parking his hobby in the garage while Jack’s car endured
winter snow and ice and the smoldering heat of the Midwest summer. Lorna took a
breath, then said, “I’m sorry, honey, but I have a hair appointment this
morning. I had to get in before I leave for New York this afternoon. This was
the only time Joellen had.” Before Jack could respond, Lorna’s phone pinged a
message. Her brow furrowed as she read the text. “Shit. I have to run. I need
to put out a fire at the office before I see Joellen.” Jack placed a sympathetic
hand on her shoulder. Lorna kissed him
on the cheek and raced to the stairs. “Take a video, hon,” she called as she
neared the second floor.
Jack exhaled a long breath of relief. He settled into a kitchen
chair and sipped his coffee. Jack was acquainted with his wife’s in-demand
hairdresser’s reputation. Lorna called her a colorist magician, whatever
that meant. She considered Joellen a friend, even a confidante. “Joellen was so
sympathetic when I told her about Johnny’s DUI,” Lorna reported. “She knew by
the look on my face I was upset about something.” Every month Lorna spent hours
in a pneumatic chair gossiping with Joellen, a woman half her age. His wife
came home drunk with dirt about Joellen’s other clients. Lorna seemed clueless
that her personal business must be broadcast to any head of hair that entered
the shop.
***
Mary showed up early to the launch site. Jack’s heart raced when he
spotted her on a bench not far from the lake. She flipped through a magazine
while several of Jack’s friends gathered around him. They discussed the best
spot to put in and where Jack would stand with the controls. A man from the
local World War II Foundation took photos of the aircraft carrier, then took
shots of Jack standing next to it.
“This is the big day, pal,” Bud said as he gave Jack a man’s side
hug.
“It is. I just hope I sealed it well. All I’d need is for the damn
thing to sink,” Jack said with a grimace.
“Hey, hey, there’s no one better at this. It’s going to float. I’ll
bet you a hundred bucks,” Bud said.
As Bud predicted, the launch proceeded perfectly. The group of
onlookers clapped when Jack turned the carrier around to return to shore. Jack,
laser-focused on the controls, didn’t see Mary until he turned to thank his
fans. She’d moved to the edge of the lake and smiled broadly when Jack’s eyes
met hers.
Jack raised his controls over his head and yelled, “Oh yeah!” his
gaze locked on Mary. The crowd responded with another round of applauses. Jack
took a theatrical bow.
“Okay, Jack, now say a few words for posterity,” Bud said as he
pointed his phone at his friend. “For your kids. Your grandkids. And for Lorna,
who had to miss today.”
“Oh my God, yeah!” Jack said, the adrenaline continuing to pump
through his system. He thanked his family, especially his ‘endlessly patient
wife, Lorna,’ for supporting him as he brought
his vision to fruition. When he turned from Bud, Jack watched the group
disband. He looked for Mary, but she was gone.
Men from the Foundation loaded the ship to a flatbed truck to
deliver it to the Museum. Jack’s sinuses burned, a signal he might cry. He
watched a year’s work pull away, taking his moment of glory with it.
Jack wanted to get away from everyone and for-Christ’s-sake, cry. He
couldn’t remember being this let down since his wedding reception ended. All
the planning, all the anticipation built through the engagement. Then within a
few hours, it was over. He and Lorna convinced their best friends to continue
the party at the hotel bar. They closed it down and retired to the honeymoon
suite, too drunk to have sex. They laughed about this the next day when they
woke with hangovers. “Good thing we weren’t saving ourselves for marriage,”
Lorna joked.
“We saved ourselves for each other. That’s all that matters,” Jack
said.
•••
“Hey,” Bud said, interrupting Jack’s memory. “You owe me a C-note.”
Jack dragged himself back to the moment. “What?” he asked.
“The bet. I bet you a hundred bucks the boat would float. And it
did.”
“Con artist. I never took the bet,” Jack said. “Always working an
angle, Bud. Good thing I know you as well as I do.”
The friends slapped each other on the back and walked to their cars.
Jack turned on his car engine and idled for a few moments. When tears gathered
in the corners of his eyes, he knew it was time to leave.
***
“Jack, you did it!” Lorna declared on the phone that evening. “Damn,
I wish I could have been there.”
“I do, too, honey,” Jack said and surprised himself. He meant it.
“No worries, though. Bud sent me the video. It’s fantastic. And you
look ecstatic.”
“That’s how I felt, Lorna. Ecstatic. But then I was let-down. It was
the wedding reception all over again.”
“What a bummer. I hate that.” The two listened to their breaths in
silence. “I never told you this, Jack, but I felt the same way each time one of
the kids got married. All that lead-up, and then pfft! It’s over.”
“Exactly,” Jack said.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Lorna said. “You won’t believe who I saw on
the video.”
“Who?”
“Mary!” Lorna nearly exclaimed with glee. “One of Joellen’s clients.
I only met her a couple of times when our appointments were back-to-back.”
Jack’s stomach churned at the mention of Mary. His wife in-real-life knew his
grocery-clerk wife. And their connection was the gossip monger Joellen.
Lorna banged on about how
Mary had three dead-beat ex-husbands—all who cheated on her. “When she had a
kid with the second husband, he disappeared. Mary worked two jobs to put her
daughter through college. She’s amazing,” Lorna said as her voice slowed. “But
she hasn’t
been in for quite a while. Joellen said Mary stopped getting her hair colored,
so no need for Joellen.”
“Hmm,” Jack murmured.
“What in the world was she doing at the launch?” Lorna asked,
abruptly returning to the moment.
“I have no idea, hon. It’s a public park.” Sweat gathered on Jack’s
forehead. “Anyway, this Mary must have seen the group and walked over to see
what was happening,” he said.
“Of course. You’re a celebrity,
honey. She’s one of your fans,” Lorna teased.
***
Jack turned in early that night. He lay awake, staring at the
digital clock on the nightstand as the numbers flashed the minutes, then the
hours. He reached across the bed and touched the empty space Lorna left. He was
still awake at dawn when the sunrise split across the room. That afternoon,
Jack decided to make tacos, Lorna’s favorite, and he needed to pick up the
ingredients. He drove down the main suburban boulevard and automatically turned
into the Shop ‘N Save. He abruptly turned the car back to the main drag and
headed to Aldi’s.
That evening, when he heard the key turn in the front door, he wiped
his hands on his apron and hurried to greet his wife.
Bio:
Patricia Feeney is a
founding member of the Crooked Tree Writers, and is a member of the St. Louis
Writer's Guild and AWP. Her work has appeared in Adelaide, Bayou (Pushcart
nominee), biostories, Inscape, Persimmon Tree, Windmill, Grub Street, and
elsewhere. She recently retired from teaching in Lindenwood's MFA program.
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