“Ah, that’s the ticket,” he said, sipping the gin and tonic she’d placed on his side table, as he crossed one leg over the other. “Thank you. And dinner was one of your best.”
They watched a commercial for the new Oldsmobile convertible with sleek lines and stylish taillights, and Milly imagined, for a moment, driving off down Coast Highway in a car like that, full of possibilities and away from all this gut-wrenching hurt. When the show came on they were in Paris, and after seeing all the chic Parisian styles, Lucy wanted a designer dress by Jacques Marcel. Ricky refused, of course, saying he absolutely would not shell out five hundred clams for one dress, so Lucy went on a hunger strike until he changed his mind. All the while, Ethel was sneaking food into Lucy’s hotel room, including a roast chicken that Ricky found in his camera bag.
Usually, Milly loved Lucy and she laughed out loud, but that night she couldn’t even manage to smile. She simply stared straight ahead and concentrated on the words and the actions, because she had to focus on something. It began to feel absurd, not funny at all. The sharp,snappy banter between Lucy and Ricky sounded trite and stupid. She couldn’t stand it. Lloyd hadn’t tried to redeem himself; no apologies had left his lips. He seemed to have no regrets about the words he’d spoken earlier in the week. If this was how her life was going to be now, she didn’t even want it.
“I’m going to bed,” she said and stood, wrapping her arms around herself, feeling cold. “I’m tired.”
“OK.” Lloyd didn’t take his eyes off the television. He laughed when Ethel walked on wearing a burlap sack that Fred was trying to pass off as a new design by Jacques Marcel. “I’ve never worn burlap before,” Ethel said in her nasally voice. “Honeybunch,” Fred said, “you were made for it.”
Lloyd laughed again, loudly this time, emphatically, as if he were really enjoying this, completely absorbed in these couples’ pranks and their lighthearted bickering. Milly looked at him dumbfounded. How could he laugh at a time like this, when he was ripping her heart to shreds with his need to be away from her?
Lloyd looked up as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Sorry, Milly, they’re just so funny, these two; they get me every time.”
“I’m heading up,” she said. One last chance for him to change his mind.
“All right,” Lloyd said, stretching his arms and legs out, his body now taking over the love seat. “Good night.”
The rest of the weekend was once again excruciating. On Saturday the whole family dressed up and had lunch at the club, but Milly and Lloyd both knew it was for the sake of showing their faces, showing what a loving, happy, normal family they were. On Sunday Lloyd got up with the children, giving Milly the rare chance to sleep in, but of course she didn’t sleep. She lay there with her eyes closed, listening to the glee in her children’s voices because their daddy was paying them so much attention. By mid-morning on Sunday Lloyd was walking through the yard and out the back gate toward his car, briefcase in one hand and a packed duffel bag in the other.
“Lloyd, wait,” she begged, jogging to keep up. “Please.”
When Milly reached the gate and Lloyd already had his hand onthe car door, he finally stopped to look at her. “I told you about this last night, Milly. I have to get back.”
“But it’s only Sunday. Sylvia’s having her party this afternoon. It’s for all the neighbors before all these college kids arrive for spring break. If you’re not there, people will talk. Can’t you head back after?”
An elderly couple walked down the back alley behind Milly’s house with an equally old dog following along behind them. Milly softened her expression—which she was sure was one of desperation. “Good afternoon,” she said.
“Hello, dear,” the gentleman said, and kept on going at a snail’s pace.
When they finally passed, Milly turned back to Lloyd. “Why did you park back here, anyway?”
“For privacy,” he said, through gritted teeth. “You said you don’t want the neighbors to talk if they don’t see my car out front. If I park back here no one will notice if I’m coming or going.”
“Well, you’re not going to be able to park here this upcoming week.”
“Why?”
“I’ve rented the cottage out.”
“What?” he said. “To who?”
“Some college kids are staying here for Bal Week.”
“What the hell is Bal Week?” Lloyd asked.
“I told you already. It starts tomorrow. Students come down here on vacation, and everyone rents out a room or their house or their guest cottage. I was going to tell you about renting it, but I’ve hardly had a chance.”
“You can’t just go renting out our house to strangers without even discussing it with me first.”
“How am I supposed to discuss anything with you if you’re never here?” she said. Then she shook her head. This was not her plan. She had told herself she was going to make Lloyd’s visits pleasant and enjoyable, no matter how infrequent, so he would be reminded of what he was missing when he was away. And she certainly didn’t mean to air hergrievances within earshot of her neighbors. “I’m sorry,” she said, placing her hand on his arm, a gesture that now, after nine years of marriage, felt strange and unfamiliar. “I should have spoken to you about it first, but it will cover some of the club fees.”
“Yes, the club, that’s another thing you should have spoken to me about.” He shook his head and closed his eyes as if trying to contain his exasperation with her. It hurt. It burned to see him so annoyed with her mere existence. Was she that intolerable? Was she that hard to be around? How had this happened to them? They used to enjoy each other’s company; they used to be companions, friends, but now even that seemed to have faded away.
“I just wish you could stay a few more hours for the party,” Milly sighed, then added, “and for the kids.”
“The kids are fine; they seem happy.”
They were only happy, Milly thought, because they didn’t know what was really going on. They didn’t know that their father was likely carrying on with some gorgeous young actress up in Hollywood.
