by Russ Durbin
THE SUBURBANITES
By Russ Durbin
Copyright © 2011 by Russ Durbin
Cover Design: Charlene Lavinia
Photo: Courtesy of Jackie Weisberg
The Suburbanites
It was colder inside the car than outside when Jim slid out. He made no attempt to kiss her.
“See you tonight,” he said, and walked toward the train.
Janet slid over behind the wheel and backed Jim’s 1988 BMW 325 Touring wagon viciously out of the parking space, her mind still busy with events of the previous evening.
* * *
It had all started early in the day when Mrs. Rosario phoned to say she didn’t feel well and wouldn’t be in that day. That meant Janet had to do the marketing, the cleaning, and the cooking alone – and with the Blakes and the Carsons coming to dinner.
She also had to cancel a three o’clock appointment at her hair salon which she really needed. Her hair was a mess and her nails really needed “doing.” To top it off, Mr. Papadopoulis at the deli was late sending the fresh fish she had planned for the dinner.
She had dropped everything to rush to meet the five-fifty-seven and pick up Jim, and he hadn’t been on it. When she tried his cell, the phone immediately switched to voice mail.
“Jim, where are you? Did you forget our dinner party tonight?” Please call me.” He probably forgot to charge his phone again, she thought as she dropped her cell in her purse.
Back at the house, she took a quick shower, styled her hair as best she could and starting applying “her face” when she heard the doorbell. Her guests were arriving early.
Throwing on her robe, she ran down to open the door and greet the Blakes and the Carsons. Trixie Blake took in the informal attire and said in her sugar-sweet voice, “Janet, how cute! Is this the latest hostess wear?” Janet had never been very fond of Trixie anyway.
With the Carsons was a stranger named Marian Todd, an old friend of Janie’s who had dropped by late in the afternoon.
“I did phone about six to let you know we would be bringing an extra guest,” said Janie, adding, “but there was no answer. I was sure you wouldn’t mind if Marian came along.” She laughed, “Marian eats hardly anything at all.”
Janet looked at the newcomer and thought, Just men. Marian was a sultry brunette with languorous eyes, a well-developed figure and a full, inviting mouth. She wore a dress that was beautifully cut an inch too low and six inches too high.
“I hope you’re not too angry,” said Marian in a breathy low voice. Then she sank into a deep chair and crossed long Julia Roberts-like legs. Jack Blake’s eyes bulged.
It was almost seven-thirty, and the fish was Cajun-black although it wasn’t supposed to be when Jim arrived. She could tell by the subdued astonishment in his eyes that he had completely forgotten about their dinner party with the Carsons and the Blakes. He explained that he had been delayed at the office for an important meeting and was unable to call because the battery on his cell was dead. Janet detected the martinis on his breath when she kissed him; he’d certainly been in a great hurry to get home, she thought angrily.
It turned out to be one of those nights. Halfway through dinner, the lights went out. Armed with a flashlight with weak batteries, Jim attacked the darkness with his feeble light to find the faulty circuit breaker. When Janet called down to ask what was wrong and why the delay, he snapped, “What the hell do you think I am, a magician?”
By the time Jim found the offending breaker, the entrée was …well, a disaster, and Janet was steaming.
Marian Todd, it was soon evident, highly approved of Jim. Her eyes left him only occasionally, and she laughed throatily at every limp witticism he uttered. Janet could understand it since Blake was a bore and Carson was a bit pear-shaped. Jim, damn him, still looked like the halfback and college class president he had once been.
After dinner, there were drinks and exquisite little tidbits from the village bakery. That was one thing that had gone right!
And Trixie, bless her inventive little heart, popped her ipod into the player and turned up the music for dancing. Politely enough Jim asked Marian to dance, and after thirty seconds Janet bitterly admitted to herself they were something to watch, all right. At least Marian was with her sinuous twisting and writhing.
Jim returned, a silly fixed smile on his face. At that point, Janet surrendered; she knew he wasn’t the world’s best dancer…even though Marian Todd went on and on about how great he was.
Jim draped his arm around Janet’s shoulders and asked, “Tired?”
“Of quite a few things,” Janet replied viciously.
When the evening finally ended, it developed that the Blakes had to pick up their children from the baby sitter’s home in Weston Village, the opposite direction from the Carsons’ home. Jim tiredly but graciously volunteered to take them, and Marian Todd, home. Janie and John Carson and the Todd woman all left in high spirits while Janet attacked the stacks of dirty dishes in the kitchen.
At the Carsons, Marian’s car wouldn’t start, so Jim agreed to take her to her condo, which was in Boonville, another three miles away.
Jim finally got home an hour and a half after Janet had calculated he should have. She, of course, didn’t know about the dead car. There was a smear of lipstick on the side of his mouth. Janet was sitting up in bed with Jay Leno on the tube.
“Well, did you have a pleasant trip?”
Jim explained about Marian’s car as he unbuttoned his shirt and put his clothes in his closet. He grabbed his pajamas and headed to their bathroom.
“What is Marian’s place like?” she asked in a tight little voice.
“Huh?” he said as he turned to her. The lipstick was like a neon light to Janet. “I don’t know; just the usual condo, I guess. I dropped her off in front of her place.”
“You’re getting a little old for that, aren’t you? I mean, parking in front of a girl’s house? Look at your face.”
Jim glanced in the mirror, wiped away the stain with a tissue, and said, “Janie Carson was acting silly. I think she had had too much to drink. She insisted on paying me with a kiss for the taxi ride.”
“And Miss Todd’s ride took quite a bit longer, so the fare, I imagine, was….”
“Look, Miss Suspicious of the Year,” Jim said tiredly. “I took them all home and had a flat on the way back. The lousy jack broke, and I had to walk a mile to Moran’s and have one of the night guys come back with me to change the tire. Let’s not make one of your silly productions of this.”
“Jim Johnston, if you think for one minute I believe….”
“Look, Janet,” said Jim. “I’m too tired for this. I don’t care what you believe. I’ve had a rugged day, and I’m not going to listen to you bitch at me for the rest of the night. You want to talk? Then talk to yourself!” Jim picked up his pillow and walked into the guest bedroom, slamming the door.
* * *
After breakfast and the silent ride to the commuter station, Janet was still fuming when she returned home. Oh, it had been a wonderful evening, all right, she thought. She whipped the car into the driveway and was delighted at the sound of the bumper ripping the side of the garage door.
On the train, Jim tried reading the morning paper, but all he saw were the ruins of the preceding evening. What the hell had happened, anyway?
