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"That's a cheerful thing to say to someone," Mrs. Ralph says. Bill is breathing in Garp's hair. There is a tentative lick at his ear. Garp wonders: Is it Bill or Mrs. Ralph? Then he feels her hand grab him under his track shorts, and he thinks, coldly: If I didn't really want her to do that, why did I lie down on my back?
"Please don't do that," he says. She can certainly feel he's not interested, and she lets him go. She lies down beside him, then rolls away, putting her back to him. The bed sloshes violently as Bill tries to wriggle between them, but Mrs. Ralph elbows him so hard in his thick rib cage that the dog coughs and abandons the bed for the floor.
"Poor Bill. I'm sorry," Mrs. Ralph says, crying softly. Bill's hard tail thumps the floor. Mrs. Ralph, as if to complete her self-humiliation, farts. Her sobbing is steady, like the kind of rain Garp knows can last all day. Garp, the marriage counselor, wonders what could give the woman a little confidence.
"Mrs. Ralph?" Garp says--then tries to bite back what he's said.
"What?" she says. "What'd you say?" She struggles up to her elbows and turns her head to glare at him. She heard him, he knows. "Did you say 'Mrs. Ralph'?" she asks him. "Jesus, 'Mrs. Ralph'!" she cries. "You don't even know my name!"
Garp sits up on the edge of the bed; he feels like joining Bill on the floor. "I find you very attractive," he mumbles to Mrs. Ralph, but he's facing Bill. "Really I do."
"Prove it," Mrs. Ralph says. "You goddamn liar. Show me."
"I can't show you," Garp says, "but it's not because I don't find you attractive."
"I don't even give you an erection!" Mrs. Ralph shouts. "Here I am half-naked, and when you're beside me--on my goddamn bed--you don't even have a respectable hard-on."
"I was trying to conceal it from you," Garp says.
"You succeeded," Mrs. Ralph says. "What's my name?"
Garp feels he has never been so aware of one of his terrible weaknesses: how he needs to have people like him, how he wants to be appreciated. With every word, he knows, he is deeper in trouble, and deeper into an obvious lie. Now he knows what a wingding is.
"Your husband must be crazy," Garp says. "You look better to me than most women."
"Oh, please stop it," says Mrs. Ralph. "You must be sick."
I must be, Garp agrees, but he says, "You should have confidence in your sexuality, believe me. And more important, you should develop confidence in yourself in other ways."
"There never were any other ways," Mrs. Ralph admits. "I was never so hot at anything but sex, and now I'm not so hot at sex either."
"But you're going to school," Garp says, groping.
"I'm sure I don't know why," Mrs. Ralph says. "Or is that what you mean by developing confidence in other ways?" Garp squints hard, wishes for unconsciousness; when he hears the water bed sound like surf, he senses danger and opens his eyes. Mrs. Ralph has undressed, has spread herself out on the bed naked. The little waves are still lapping under her rough-tough body, which confronts Garp like a sturdy rowboat moored on choppy water.
"Show me you've got a hard-on and you can go," she says. "Show me your hard-on and I'll believe you like me."
Garp tries to think of an erection; in order to do this, he shuts his eyes and thinks of someone else.
"You bastard," says Mrs. Ralph, but Garp discovers he is already hard; it was not nearly so difficult as he imagined. Opening his eyes, he's forced to recognize that Mrs. Ralph is not without allure. He pulls down his track shorts and shows himself to her. The gesture itself makes him harder; he finds himself liking her damp, curly hair. But Mrs. Ralph seems neither disappointed nor impressed with the demonstration; she is resigned to being let down. She shrugs. She rolls over and turns her great round rump to Garp.
"Okay, so you can actually get it up," she tells him. "Thank you. You can go home now."
Garp feels like touching her. Sickened with embarrassment, Garp feels he could come by just looking at her. He blunders out the door, down the wretched staircase. Is the woman's self-abuse all over for this night? he wonders. Is Duncan safe?
He contemplates extending his vigil until the comforting light of dawn. Stepping on the fallen skillet and clanging it against the stove, he hears not even a sigh from Mrs. Ralph and only a moan from Bill. If the boys were to wake up and need anything, he fears Mrs. Ralph wouldn't hear them.
It's 3:30 A.M. in Mrs. Ralph's finally quiet house when Garp decides to clean the kitchen, to kill the time until dawn. Familiar with a housewife's tasks, Garp fills the sink and starts to wash the dishes.
* * *
--
When the phone rang, Garp knew it was Helen. It suddenly occurred to him--all the terrible things she could have on her mind.
"Hello," Garp said.
"Would you tell me what's going on, please?" Helen asked. Garp knew she had been awake a long time. It was four o'clock in the morning.
