Four Wives

by Wendy Walker

  “Tell me what?!”

  Janie shrugged. “They’re closing down. Dr. Olson is moving to a Manhattan group, and the male doctors are turning the practice into some kind of laser clinic. They sent a letter. Didn’t you get it?”

  “I guess I missed it. What are you talking about? Plastic surgery? How the hell can a gynecologist switch fields to plastic surgery?” Marie said, bending down so she could catch a glimpse of Love’s face, which was now straining to hold back a smile.

  “It’s not exactly plastic surgery,” Love managed to get out before the smile took over.

  “Then what?”

  Gayle decided to jump in. There was no use prolonging a full disclosure. “It’s called Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation. It was all in the letter.”

  “Vaginal rejuvenation? What the hell?!” Marie was now standing, and Love was laughing out loud in spite of the pain.

  “You know’when things are not quite the same down there after pushing out the babies. They can pretty up the scars, permanently remove hair. And, of course, tighten it up,” Janie explained as she held two napkin samples out for inspection. “They have a Web site and everything. It’s the latest trend in cosmetic enhancement.”

  And you would know, Marie thought, directing her anger at Mrs. Suburbia as she tried to comprehend the fact that there was more demand in this town for tight vaginas than prenatal care. “You see?! It’s the goddamned patriarchy! Am I the only one upset by this? We’re supposed to bear all these children, then undergo surgery so our husbands can have a better time fucking us?”

  The women were quiet for a moment. Gayle and Love knew there was no point trying to calm her down’she’d already broken last year’s resolution not to say fuck.

  “If it’s any consolation, the literature stresses that the procedures are meant to increase the woman’s sexual pleasure. They specifically caution against undergoing surgery at a man’s urging,” Gayle added, knowing full well that none of this would placate Marie.

  “You see! They’re already covering their asses because they know this is about male pleasure. Just like Viagra and Levitra’always pitched as ways to better serve women, when every woman knows it’s about men. How can a doctor trained to deliver babies betray women like this? And you notice that the only woman in the practice wanted no part of it!”

  A collective sigh followed’what could be done?

  “It’s like they want to erase our lives.” Marie was in deep thought now. Everything could be erased’all evidence of having had children, having lived with a man so long there was nothing left to discover. Sure’shrink your vagina and it will all be new again. It was so ridiculous, glaring yet covert, manipulative. Like the seemingly innocuous pods from Invasion of the Body Snatchers. How many women, she wondered, would now be pulling out their compact mirrors, crouching over to inspect their imperfect vaginas? How many husbands would now wonder if a minor laser procedure could be the answer to their mundane sex lives? And there wasn’t a damned thing Marie could do about it.

  She glanced at Janie from across the table, and it was’at last’apparent to her why the woman got under her skin. No one would believe she was the forty-two-year-old mother of four.

  “Down with the patriarchy! Let’s revolt,” Love said with sharp sarcasm.

  Feeling Marie’s thoughts upon her, Janie threw her hands up. “What patriarchy? This whole thing was probably concocted by one man with a little dick.”

  Everyone laughed, including Marie, who couldn’t resist something crudely funny’even if it came from Janie Kirk.

  Love forced herself to settle down as the pain began to crest. “Can we finish here? I don’t think I can stay like this for long.”

  Returning to their tasks, they made the decisions, completed the order forms, and faxed them to the various vendors. The last item on the agenda was the plan for the yard. Removing it from the floor next to Love, Gayle felt a quiet unsettling in her stomach. These were the plans that had brought her to the garden with Paul that night, the night that had changed things between them.

  “OK. Let’s get started,” Marie said, looking over Gayle’s shoulder. But the drawing appeared to be finished.

  “Actually, Paul and I worked on it.”

  Love strained her neck to look at Gayle. “Paul? Paul from the kitchen?”

  “Yeah.” She said it casually, though nothing had been casual about Paul since that night on her patio, since her visit to his apartment.

  Marie said a quiet oh, raising her eyebrows, but otherwise holding back. “So, we are done. And I have to get the prisoner back.”

  Marie gathered her things, then helped Love up from the floor.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you ladies at the dinner. We can handle the rest over the phone and e-mails, right?” Janie seemed eager to leave.

  Gayle walked them out, waving after the last car as it made its way down the driveway. When she turned back toward the house, she saw a shadow in the room above the garage. On any other day, she would have thought little of it. She would have walked back into the house, cleaned up the glasses from the dining room, straightened the papers one more time before picking Oliver up from school. Today, she just stood, watching.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  TOO MUCH TALKING

  “Do YOU STILL FUCK your wife?” Janie asked while he was still inside her. She could have waited to ask. She could have not asked at all. But their meetings had become as much about irreverence as sex.

  He propped himself up with his elbows so he could see her face. But he stayed on top of her, inside her when he gave his answer. “Sure.”

  “You say that like it was a foregone conclusion.”

  “Don’t you still fuck Daniel?”

  “I avoid it when I can.”

  He brushed a stray hair from her cheek. “Why? Are you in love with me?

  Janie laughed out loud. “Good God, no. But I can be myself here.”

  He pulled out of her and rolled over to the nightstand for a cigarette. “And you can’t be yourself with Daniel?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Janie waited for him to light up, then reached out for a drag as he sat beside her. “I don’t know. I guess when you’ve been in love with someone’you know, when you’ve made love, felt them hold your face and look at you with desire and passion and adoration’real love, and then it’s ’What’s for dinner’ followed by a closed-eyed quickie …” She paused for a sigh, trying to find the words to explain herself. “I feel betrayed.”

  He laughed now, but looked at her sweetly. “That’s marriage, darling. What the hell did you expect?”

  “Fuck off,” she said.

  “No, really,” he said, his face as serious as she’d ever seen it. “See, I knew what I was getting into. All that stuff you feel at the start’it’s just body chemicals. It can’t last, the chemicals are there to make you want to fuck so the species will carry on. The marriage, on the other hand, is there for family structure. Children. It’s a bargain.”

  “So you no longer desire your wife, but you still fuck her?”

  “Yeah, I suppose that’s right,” he answered, then shrugged.

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s my wife, and it’s better than beating off.”

  “Do you think she likes it?”

  He shrugged again, his face going for a look of innocence, but failing. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, I don’t know? Does she moan, sigh, grab your ass to pull you deeper inside her? Does she kiss you when it’s over?”

  “OK, I see your point.”

  “Christ! Does she even climax?”

  He looked at her and knew he was in trouble. Did his wife cum when they fucked? He really had no idea.

  “Fuck, Janie! It’s marriage! It’s me. I’m a complete shit for cheating, but I’d never leave her. This is life, not some pretty little fairy tale.”

  “Oh, I am becoming more aware of that by the second. But let me ask yo
u one more thing.”

  “Oh shit, here we go.”

  “Do you think your wife is glad that you don’t leave her? Did you ever wonder what she thinks about when she lies in your bed tolerating your dick?”

  He would have been offended if he were capable of it, but instead he smiled and waved his finger playfully in front of her face. “Aha! I know what this is about.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes!” He crushed the cigarette into an empty glass, then crawled across the bed and back on top of Janie.

  “You are not my wife, and I am not Daniel. My wife doesn’t think about all this stuff. We’re married. We fuck. We go on with the business of life.”

  Janie drew her arms to her chest, then pushed him off of her. “Great. I’m first in the shower.”

  He reached for her arm, but she slid it out from his grasp and began to gather her clothes from the floor.

  “See, all this talking is just not good,” he said, flopping back onto the bed. “Now you really are too mad to fuck.”

  With her arms overflowing with every trace of herself she could find in the room, Janie gave him a sarcastic smile, then retreated to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. Hearing his laughter through the wall, she dropped her clothes and turned on the faucet. As she let the water run down her back, she found herself hoping he would leave, and not just because he was such a prick. He had never hidden that from her. And the truth of the matter was, she wasn’t angry. At least not with him. But everything was changing between them. When they first started this thing they were doing, an affair for lack of a better name, he was at her beck and call. Making excuses at the office, he would drive out to meet her whenever she had a free moment. Now there were constraints on his time. Client meetings were suddenly in the way. They were settling into a kind of routine, the kind where his life was more important than hers. Maybe because of his job, or the drive from the city he had to make. Or maybe just because he was the man. Whatever the reason, the result was the same’she was now having to be more creative with her time, and the feeling that he wasn’t worth it was beginning to take hold. They had done everything there was to do, exhausted their bag of tricks. The “body chemicals” he liked to blame his actions on were starting to fade. With no friendship between them, no shred of real intimacy, they were running out of road.

  She heard him say something, then the sound of the door closing. He’d given up on the shower and rushed off, which was just fine with Janie. Rinsing her hair one last time in water that had become lukewarm, she turned the faucet handle and reached for a towel. It was not enjoyable, this shower in Room 221. The pressure was weak, the hot water fleeting. The plastic curtain stuck to her legs. That it gave her an excuse to retreat from the bed each time had become its only redeeming quality.

  With the dry end of the towel, she wiped the steam from the mirror. She checked her face for any running makeup, the eyeliner being the worst offender most days, then picked up her clothes, which lay in a pile by the closed door. Pressing her face into the fabric, she inhaled deeply, checking for the smell of his cologne, or that sickening-sweet odor of stale cigarette smoke. It was getting old’all this worry. The effort to check for evidence of the two bad habits was becoming rote, and consequently vulnerable to slip-ups. Did she remember to hide the cigarettes in the glove compartment? Was the phone bill about to arrive, the only piece of physical evidence that might cause suspicion? These were the thoughts she had to concern herself with, the worries that woke her in the night. The morning would bring fresh resolve to give them up. After dropping the kids at school, she would toss the pack of cigarettes in the garbage bin in the back of the parking lot, screen the incoming calls on her cell. She would busy herself with errands, go to pilates. But the resolve always faded with the passing hours of the day, and before noon she would find herself at the gas-station counter, buying a new pack. She would find herself back in this room, smelling her clothes.

  The ringing of her cell phone caught her by surprise. Still naked, she pulled her belongings to her chest as though the caller could see through the connection, finding her undressed in a motel bathroom. With the clothes clenched in one hand, she dug through her bag for the phone and checked the caller ID. It was Daniel’s office.

  Her heart pounded, almost choking out her breath. He never called her on her free afternoon. The kids were home with the sitter until five. It was her time, and he had always respected that. She reminded herself that it was just a phone call. She was in a store. There was no noise because she was in the dressing room. Doing some shopping for summer clothing. Bathing suits. She would find nothing that fit, feign her disappointment when he came home later, asking to see what she’d purchased.

  She took a breath, then hit the answer key.

  “Hello?” she said, her voice upbeat.

  “Janie?” It was Daniel’s secretary.

  “Hi, Beth. What’s going on?” Again, her voice was casual, and this time more natural. It was not unusual for Beth to call to check on dates for client functions.

  She was beginning to feel relieved when the news was conveyed. “It’s Daniel, Janie. I’m sorry to tell you on the phone, but I thought you’d want to know right away.”

  Janie pulled her clothes closer and leaned against the door. “What is it?”

  “He had some sort of attack. He’s at St. Vincent’s.” Her voice was somber. “They took him in an ambulance a few minutes ago.”

  With the phone pinned between ear and shoulder, Janie searched for her underwear, her mind focused on the quickest path to the hospital. “Was it his heart? What happened?”

  Beth recounted the event. The chest pain, the shortness of breath. The medics taking him quickly. They hadn’t said much.

  With shaky hands, Janie hastily buttoned her shirt, then slipped on her shoes. She grabbed her things’a hairbrush, mouthwash, sunglasses’and shoved them into her bag. She ran for the door, car keys in hand.

  “I’m on my way. Call the hospital. Tell them’I’m on my way.”

  She threw the phone on the passenger seat, her mind skipping forward to the worst outcome. She started the car and backed out of her space. Racing out of the parking lot to the road, she saw the faces of her children’young children who wouldn’t understand. At her core, she was a realist. She knew these things happened, and rarely did they surprise her. The human body was a walking time bomb. Still, despite everything she told herself as she drove, nothing could chase the thought from her mind. Nothing ever would. She let it come forward, and the words left her mouth with resounding certainty.

  “I did this.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THE EVOLUTION OF MARRIAGE

  MARIE WAS ALONE IN the office, and she could no longer resist the urge. She logged onto Yahoo! and typed in the words laser vaginal rejuvenation. The Hunting Ridge doctors had the top listing, apparently being the first practice in the nation to actually specialize in the tightening of vaginas.

  With a tense jaw, Marie read through the flowery prose meant to sell the procedures to women who, until now, had most likely never given the appearance of their vaginas much thought. There was designer laser vaginoplasty to aesthetically enhance the vulvar structures through creative treatments. Or laser reduction labioplasty, in case your inner lips projected out beyond the outer. Of course, if you just wanted the look of a youthful vagina, then laser perineoplasty would be the way to go. You could even have your hymen reconstructed and actually become a virgin again. Yippee! There were package deals for all the treatments, and if you wanted head-to-toe rejuvenating, you might consider combining your vaginal procedures with a breast implant, liposuction, and facelift.

  “Unfuckingbelievable. Now I have to get a designer vagina to live in Hunting Ridge.” Marie was in mid-sentence when she heard Randy come through the door.

  “What?” he said, setting the bag with their takeout on his desk.

  Marie started to close down the page. “Nothing.”

 
; She was too late.

  “Is that a Georgia O’Keefe?”

  Marie looked at the abstract flower in the right-hand corner of the Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation Web site and shook her head. “No. It’s just a flower. Got it?! A flower.”

  Randy smiled, his eyebrows raised, as he watched the page disappear from Marie’s screen. “Sorry. I just thought I saw the word … you know.”

  “What? Vagina? You did see it. But it wasn’t Georgia O’Keefe.” Marie was now standing and beginning to pace. “Georgia O’Keefe would be appalled by that Web site.”

  “So, what was it?”

  He was teasing her now, baiting her to divulge the source of her more than apparent irritation.

  “No. I will not corrupt you further. Did you get plates?”

  Randy shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “I’ll get something.” Marie walked the few steps to the bathroom. When she returned with the roll of paper towels, Randy was standing over her computer.

  “You sneak! Get away from there!”

  Marie shoved him back to his desk, then closed her screen again. When she looked at him, he was holding back a smile.

  “OK, fine. It seems the local obstetricians have opened a clinic to rejuvenate vaginas’and that is all I plan on saying.”

  Randy laughed. “Are you serious? Is that what it sounds like?”

  “Yes. It’s exactly what it sounds like. I told you’this town should be renamed Stepford.”

  “That is unbelievable. Is that something’I don’t know’that women do?”

  “Apparently,” Marie said, shaking her head as she sat down. “I’m sorry, Randy.”

  Without a hint of the embarrassment that, by any accounting, should have been present, Randy pulled the containers from the bag and handed one to Marie.

  “What for?”

  “What for?! Christ, Randy, the things you’ve seen. I feel like I’m stealing your youth. After this summer, you’re either going to be the most popular man at Yale Law, or’I don’t know’joining the priesthood.”