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“Hey Hel,” Bill said, puffing on his cigar. “What do you care who Redmon fucks?”
At first, Janey figured that she could have almost gotten used to Helen (it wasn’t her fault she was insane, Redmon explained, and Bill would have divorced her except that he’d promised her family he wouldn’t), but she couldn’t deal with Bill.
He seemed to have a deep, unexplained hatred for her. Or for women like her, anyway. Every time Janey saw him, he would invariably launch into some kind of diatribe that was apropos of nothing. “All of your type think they know more than they do,” he’d say, “and you berate men, and berate men, and use your tits and your pussy”—there was something about the way he said “pussy” that made Janey wince with excitement—“to get what you want and then you put the man down for having used you.”
“Excuse me,” Janey would say, “but have I ever met you before?”
“Probably,” he’d say. “But you wouldn’t remember, would you?” And Janey would turn away and sip some red wine and look over her glass at Redmon, who would look over at her and wink, thinking this was all great fun and wasn’t everyone having a terrific time?
And then the inevitable happened.
It must have been well into July that first night that Bill followed her into the bathroom. She must have known that he was going to follow her, because she’d left the door unlocked and had peed quickly and was leaning over the sink, applying lipstick, when the door handle turned. Bill slipped in and quickly shut the door behind him.
“Hello,” Janey said nonchalantly.
“Janey,” he said. “You’re driving me insane.”
Janey rolled up her lipstick and smiled. “God, Bill. You’re always so dramatic. I think you’ve been writing too many screenplays.”
“Screenplays, fuck it,” he said, taking a step toward her. “I know Redmon’s in love with you, goddammit, but so am I.”
“I thought you hated me,” Janey said.
“I do,” he said. “I hate you because I fell in love with you the minute I saw you. And you’re with Redmon. What the hell are you doing with him anyway?”
Men are so disloyal, Janey thought.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Jesus Christ, Janey,” he said. “Just tell me what you want. I could get you a part in a movie . . .”
“Oh Bill,” Janey said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He came toward her and put his arm around her neck. He kissed her and put his tongue in her mouth. She kissed him back and put her hand on his penis. It wasn’t quite as large as she hoped it would be, but it would do. He tried to put his hand down her pants, but they were too tight.
“Stop it,” she said. “What if someone comes?”
“What if they do?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Get out of here,” she said, pushing him out the door.
She reapplied her lipstick and went back to the table. “Everything okay?” Redmon asked.
“Oh yes,” she said. “Everything’s fine.”
Janey began fucking Bill whenever she could. They did it in one of the stalls in his barn. In the bathrooms at restaurants. Even in Redmon’s bed during the day, when Redmon was grocery shopping at the King Kullen. When Redmon returned, swinging white plastic bags, she and Bill would be sitting in the living room, pretending he had just stopped by. It was terrible and she knew it, but dammit, she reasoned. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be married? He was the kind of guy she could marry. Why was it that guys like Bill always ended up being caught by insane women like Helen? The world made no sense. And that house. She could be happy in a house like that for a long time.
“Redmon,” she would say innocently, when they were buying lettuce and strawberries at the produce stand up the street, “are you sure Bill will never divorce Helen?”
“I’m sure he wants to,” Redmon would say. “But he can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s insane. And you can’t divorce an insane woman.” Redmon picked up a peach and squeezed it. “Christ, Janey. Haven’t you ever heard of Zelda Fitzgerald? F. Scott Fitzgerald?” he asked. “Bill and Helen are the same. They have to stay together.”
Redmon found out about it, of course. He probably wouldn’t have, but Bill told him.
It was the middle of August. The weekend. Redmon kept looking at her, watching her. It was the first weekend they didn’t go to the Westacotts’.
“What’s wrong?” Janey asked.
