The Stepford Wives

by Ira Levin

  Joanna was glad when Bobbie and Dave came to pick Adam up.

  But she was glad she had taken him when she saw how great they looked. Bobbie had had her hair done and was absolutely beautiful – either due to make-up or lovemaking, probably both. And Dave looked jaunty and keyed up and happy. They brought bracing coldness into the entrance hall. ‘Hi, Joanna, how’d it go?’ Dave said, rubbing leather-gloved hands; and Bobbie, wrapped in her raccoon coat, said, ‘I hope Adam wasn’t any trouble.’

  ‘Not a speck,’ Joanna said. ‘You look marvellous, both of you!’

  ‘We feel marvellous,’ Dave said, and Bobbie smiled and said, ‘It was a lovely weekend. Thank you for helping us manage it.’

  ‘Forget it,’ Joanna said. ‘I’m going to plunk Pete with you one of these weekends.’

  ‘We’ll be glad to take him,’ Bobbie said, and Dave said, ‘Whenever you want, just say the word. Adam? Time to go!’

  ‘He’s up in Pete’s room.’

  Dave cupped his gloved hands and shouted, ‘Ad-am! We’re here! Get your stuff!’

  ‘Take your coats off,’ Joanna said.

  ‘Got to pick up Jon and Kenny,’ Dave said, and Bobbie said, ‘I’m sure you’d like some peace and quiet. It must have been hectic.’

  ‘Well it hasn’t been my most restful Sunday,’ Joanna said. ‘Yesterday was great though.’

  ‘Hi there!’ Walter said, coming in from the kitchen with a glass in his hand.

  Bobbie said, ‘Hello, Walter,’ and Dave said, ‘Hi, buddy!’

  ‘How was the second honeymoon?’ Walter asked.

  ‘Better than the first,’ Dave said. ‘Just shorter, that’s all.’ He grinned at Walter.

  Joanna looked at Bobbie, expecting her to say something funny. Bobbie smiled at her and looked toward the stairs. ‘Hello, gumdrop,’ she said. ‘Did you have a nice weekend?’

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ Adam said, standing tilted to keep his shopping bag clear of the stair. Pete and Kim stood behind him. Kim said, ‘Can’t he stay another night?’

  ‘No, dear, there’s school tomorrow,’ Bobbie said, and Dave said, ‘Come on, pal, we’ve got to collect the rest of the Mafia.’

  Adam came sulkily down the stairs, and Joanna went to the closet for his coat and boots. ‘Hey,’ Dave said, ‘I’ve got some information on that stock you asked me about.’ Walter said, ‘Oh, good,’ and he and Dave went into the living room.

  Joanna gave Adam’s coat to Bobbie, and Bobbie thanked her and held it open for Adam. He put his shopping bag down and winged back his arms to the coat sleeves.

  Joanna, holding Adam’s boots, said, ‘Do you want a bag for these?’

  ‘No, don’t bother,’ Bobbie said. She turned Adam around and helped him with his buttons.

  ‘You smell nice,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, gumdrop.’

  He looked at the ceiling and at her. ‘I don’t like you to call me that,’ he said. ‘I used to, but now I don’t.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I won’t do it again.’ She smiled at him and kissed him on the forehead.

  Walter and Dave came out of the living room, and Adam picked up his shopping bag and said goodbye to Pete and Kim. Joanna gave Adam’s boots to Bobbie and touched cheeks with her. Bobbie’s was still cool from outside, and she did smell nice. ‘Speak to you tomorrow,’ Joanna said.

  ‘Sure,’ Bobbie said. They smiled at each other. Bobbie moved to Walter at the door and offered her cheek. He hesitated – Joanna wondered why – and pecked it.

  Dave kissed Joanna, clapped Walter on the arm – ‘So long, buddy’ – and steered Adam out after Bobbie.

  ‘Can we go in the family room now?’ Pete asked.

  ‘It’s all yours,’ Walter said.

  Pete ran away and Kim ran after him.

  Joanna and Walter stood at the cold glass of the storm door, looking out at Bobbie and Dave and Adam getting into their car.

  ‘Fantastic,’ Walter said.

  ‘Don’t they look great?’ Joanna said. ‘Bobbie didn’t even look that good at the party. Why didn’t you want to kiss her?’

  Walter didn’t say anything, and then he said, ‘Oh, I don’t know, cheek-kissing. It’s so damn show-business.’

  ‘I never noticed you objecting before.’

  ‘Then I’ve changed, I guess,’ he said.

  She watched the car doors close, and its headlights flash on. ‘How about us having a weekend alone?’ she said. ‘They’ll take Pete, they said they would, and I’m sure the Van Sants would take Kim.’

  ‘That’d be great,’ he said. ‘Right after the holidays.’

  ‘Or maybe the Hendrys,’ she said. ‘They’ve got a six-year-old girl, and I’d like Kim to get to know a black family.’

  The car pulled away, red taillights shining, and Walter closed the door and locked it and thumbed down the switch of the outside lights. ‘Want a drink?’ he asked.

  ‘And how,’ Joanna said. ‘I need one after today.’

  Ugh, what a Monday: Pete’s room to be reassembled and all the others straightened out, the beds to be changed, washing (and she’d let it pile up, of course), tomorrow’s shopping list to make up, and three pairs of Pete’s pants to be lengthened. That was what she was doing; never mind what else had to be done – the Christmas shopping, and the Christmas-card addressing, and making Pete’s costume for the play (thanks for that, Miss Turner). Bobbie didn’t call, thank goodness; this wasn’t a day for kaffee-klatsching. Is she right? Joanna wondered. Am I changing? Hell, no; the housework had to be caught up with once in a while, otherwise the place would turn into – well, into Bobbie’s place. Besides, a real Stepford wife would sail through it all very calmly and efficiently, not running the vacuum cleaner over its cord and then mashing her fingers getting the cord out from around the damn roller thing.

  She gave Pete hell about not putting toys away when he was done playing with them, and he sulked for an hour and wouldn’t talk to her. And Kim was coughing.

  And Walter begged off his turn at K.P. and ran out to get into Herb Sundersen’s full car. Busy time at the Men’s Association; the Christmas-Toys project. (Who for? Were there needy children in Stepford? She’d seen no sign of any.)

  She cut a sheet to start Pete’s costume, a snowman, and played a game of Concentration with him and Kim (who only coughed once but keep the fingers crossed); and then she addressed Christmas cards down through the L’s and went to bed at ten. She fell asleep with the Skinner book.

  Tuesday was better. When she had cleaned up the breakfast mess and made the beds, she called Bobbie – no answer; she was house-hunting – and drove to the Centre and did the week’s main marketing. She went to the Centre again after lunch, took pictures of the crèche, and got home just ahead of the school bus.

  Walter did the dishes and then went to the Men’s Association. The toys were for kids in the city, ghetto kids and kids in hospitals. Complain about that,MsEberhart. Or would she still be Ms Ingalls? Ms Ingalls-Eberhart?

  After she got Pete and Kim bathed and into bed she called Bobbie. It was odd that Bobbie hadn’t called her in two full days. ‘Hello?’ Bobbie said.

  ‘Long time no speak.’

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Joanna.’

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Bobbie said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine. Are you? You sound sort of blah.’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ Bobbie said.

  ‘Any luck this morning?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘House-hunting.’

  ‘I went shopping this morning,’ Bobbie said.

  ‘Why didn’t you call me?’

  ‘I went very early.’

  ‘I went around ten; we must have just missed each other.’

  Bobbie didn’t say anything.

  ‘Bobbie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Positive. I’m in the middle of some ironing.’

  ‘At thi
s hour?’

  ‘Dave needs a shirt for tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh. Call me in the morning then; maybe we can have lunch. Unless you’re going house-hunting.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Bobbie said.

  ‘Call me then, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Bobbie said. ‘Bye, Joanna.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  She hung up and sat looking at the phone and her hand on it. The thought struck her – ridiculously – that Bobbie had changed the way Charmaine had. No, not Bobbie; impossible. She must have had a fight with Dave, a major one that she wasn’t ready to talk about yet. Or could she herself have offended Bobbie in some way without being aware of it? Had she said something Sunday about Adam’s stay-over that Bobbie might have misinterpreted? But no, they’d parted as friendly as ever, touching cheeks and saying they’d speak to each other. (Yet even then, now that she thought about it, Bobbie had seemed different; she – hadn’t said the sort of things she usually did, and she’d moved more slowly too.) Maybe she and Dave had been smoking pot over the weekend. They’d tried it a couple of times without much effect, Bobbie had said. Maybe this time …

  She addressed a few Christmas cards.

  She called Ruthanne Hendry, who was friendly and glad to hear from her. They talked about The Magus, which Ruthanne was enjoying as much as Joanna had, and Ruthanne told her about her new book, another Penny story. They agreed to have lunch together the following week. Joanna would speak to Bobbie, and the three of them would go to the French place in East-bridge. Ruthanne would call her Monday morning.

  She addressed Christmas cards, and read the Skinner book in bed until Walter came home. ‘I spoke to Bobbie tonight,’ she said. ‘She sounded – different, washed out.’

  ‘She’s probably tired from all that running around she’s been doing,’ Walter said, emptying his jacket pockets onto the bureau.

  ‘She seemed different Sunday too,’ Joanna said. ‘She didn’t say—’

  ‘She had some make-up on, that’s all,’ Walter said. ‘You’re not going to start in with that chemical business, are you?’

  She frowned, pressing the closed book to her blanketed knees. ‘Did Dave say anything about their trying pot again?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ Walter said, ‘but maybe that’s the answer.’

  They made love, but she was tense and couldn’t really give herself, and it wasn’t very good.

  Bobbie didn’t call. Around one o’clock Joanna drove over. The dogs barked at her as she got out of the station wagon. They were chained to an overhead line behind the house, the corgi up on his hind legs, pawing air and yipping, the sheepdog standing shaggy and stock-still, barking ‘Ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff.’ Bobbie’s blue Chevy stood in the driveway.

  Bobbie, in her immaculate living room – cushions all fluffed, woodwork gleaming, magazines fanned on the polished table behind the sofa – smiled at Joanna and said, ‘I’m sorry, I was so busy it slipped my mind. Have you had lunch? Come on into the kitchen. I’ll fix you a sandwich. What would you like?’

  She looked the way she had on Sunday – beautiful, her hair done, her face made up. And she was wearing some kind of padded high-uplift bra under her green sweater, and a hip-whittling girdle under the brown pleated skirt.

  In her immaculate kitchen she said, ‘Yes, I’ve changed. I realized I was being awfully sloppy and self-indulgent. It’s no disgrace to be a good homemaker. I’ve decided to do my job conscientiously, the way Dave does his, and to be more careful about my appearance. Are you sure you don’t want a sandwich?’

  Joanna shook her head. ‘Bobbie,’ she said, ‘I – Don’t you see what’s happened? Whatever’s around here – it’s got you, the way it got Charmaine!’

  Bobbie smiled at her. ‘Nothing’s got me,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing around. That was a lot of nonsense. Stepford’s a fine healthful place to live.’

  ‘You – don’t want to move any more?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Bobbie said. ‘That was nonsense too. I’m perfectly happy here. Can’t I at least make you a cup of coffee?’

  She called Walter at his office. ‘Oh good ahfternoon!’ Esther said. ‘So nice to speak to you! It must be a super day up there, or are you hyar in town?’

  ‘No, I’m at home,’ she said. ‘May I speak to Walter, please?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s in conference at the moment.’

  ‘It’s important. Please tell him.’

  ‘Hold on a sec then.’

  She held on, sitting at the den desk, looking at the papers and envelopes she had taken from the centre drawer, and at the calendar – Tue. Dec. 14, yesterday – and the Ike Mazzard drawing.

  ‘He’ll be right with you, Mrs Eberhart,’ Esther said. ‘Nothing wrong with Peter or Kim, I hope.’

  ‘No, they’re fine.’

  ‘Good. They must be having a—’

  ‘Hello?’ Walter said.

  ‘Walter?’

  ‘Hello. What is it?’

  ‘Walter, I want you to listen to me and don’t argue,’ she said. ‘Bobbie has changed. I was over there. The house looks like – It’s spotless, Walter; it’s immaculate! And she’s got herself all – Listen, do you have the bankbooks? I’ve been looking for them and I can’t find them. Walter?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got them,’ he said. ‘I’ve been buying some stock, on Dave’s recommendations. What do you want them for?’

  ‘To see what we’ve got,’ she said. ‘There was a house I saw in Eastbridge that—’

  ‘Joanna.’

  ‘—was a little more than this one but—’

  ‘Joanna, listen to me.’

  ‘I’m not going to stay here another—’

  ‘Listen to me, damn it!’

  She gripped the handset. ‘Go ahead,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll try to get home early,’ he said. ‘Don’t do anything till I get there. You hear me? Don’t make any commitments or anything. I think I can get away in about half an hour.’

  ‘I’m not going to stay here another day,’ she said.

  ‘Just wait till I get there, will you?’ he said. ‘We can’t talk about this on the phone.’

  ‘Bring the bankbooks,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t do anything till I get there.’ The phone clicked dead.

  She hung up.

  She put the papers and envelopes back into the centre drawer and closed it. Then she got the phone book from the shelf and looked up Miss Kirgassa’s number in Eastbridge.

  The house she was thinking of, the St Martin house, was still on the market. ‘In fact I think they’ve come down a bit since you saw it.’

  ‘Would you do me a favour?’ she said. ‘We may be interested; I’ll know definitely tomorrow. Would you find out the rock-bottom price they’ll take for an immediate sale, and let me know as soon as you can?’

  ‘I’ll get right back to you,’ Miss Kirgassa said. ‘Do you know if Mrs Markowe has found something? We had an appointment this morning but she didn’t show up.’

  ‘She changed her mind; she’s not moving,’ she said. ‘But I am.’

  She called Buck Raymond, the broker they’d used in Stepford. ‘Just hypothetically,’ she said, ‘if we were to put the house on the market tomorrow, do you think we could sell it quickly?’

  ‘No doubt about it,’ Buck said. ‘There’s a steady demand here. I’m sure you could get what you paid, maybe even a little more. Aren’t you happy in it?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Shall I start showing it? There’s a couple here right now who are—’

  ‘No, no, not yet,’ she said. ‘I’ll let you know tomorrow.’

  ‘Now just hold on a minute,’ Walter said, making spread-handed calming gestures.

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘No. Whatever it is takes four months to work, which means I’ve got one more month to go. Maybe less; we moved here September fourth.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Joanna—’

  ‘Charmaine m
oved here in July,’ she said. ‘She changed in November. Bobbie moved here in August and now it’s December.’ She turned and walked away from him. The sink’s faucet was leaking; she hit the handle back hard and the leaking stopped.

  ‘You had the letter from the Department of Health,’ Walter said.

  ‘Bullshit, to quote Bobbie.’ She turned and faced him. ‘There’s something, there’s got to be,’ she said. ‘Go take a look. Would you do that, please? She’s got her bust shoved out to here, and her behind girdled down to practically nothing! The house is like a commercial. Like Carol’s, and Donna’s, and Kit Sundersen’s!’

  ‘She had to clean it sooner or later; it was a pigsty.’

  ‘She’s changed, Walter! She doesn’t talk the same, she doesn’t think the same – and I’m not going to wait around for it to happen to me!’

  ‘We’re not going to—’

  Kim came in from the patio, her face red in its fur-edged hood.

  ‘Stay out, Kim,’ Walter said.

  ‘We want some supplies,’ Kim said. ‘We’re going on a hike.’

  Joanna went to the cookie jar and opened it and got out cookies. ‘Here,’ she said, putting them into Kim’s mittened hands. ‘Stay near the house; it’s getting dark.’

  ‘Can we have Oreos?’

  ‘We don’t have Oreos. Go on.’

  Kim went out. Walter closed the door.

  Joanna brushed crumbs from her hand. ‘It’s a nicer house than this one,’ she said, ‘and we can have it for fifty-three-five. And we can get that for this one; Buck Raymond said so.’

  ‘We’re not moving,’ Walter said.

  ‘You said we would!’

  ‘Next summer, not—’

  ‘I won’t be me next summer!’

  ‘Joanna—’

  ‘Don’t you understand? It’s going to happen to me, in January!’

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you!’

  ‘That’s what I told Bobbie! I kidded her about the bottled water!’

  He came close to her. ‘There’s nothing in the water, there’s nothing in the air,’ he said. ‘They changed for exactly the reasons they told you: because they realized they’d been lazy and negligent. If Bobbie’s taking an interest in her appearance, it’s about time. It wouldn’t hurt you to look in a mirror once in a while.’