Another Marvelous Thing Read Free Page B

You are now stuck, with me and this week of important congressional elections twined in your mind forever.”
    It was in the car on the way home that the subject of what we were doing together came up. It was twilight and we had both been silent.
    â€œThis is the end of the line,” said Billy.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I said. “Do you mean you want to break this up?”
    â€œNo,” said Billy. “It would be nice, though, wouldn’t it?”
    â€œNo, it would not be nice,” I said.
    â€œI think it would,” said Billy. “Then I wouldn’t spend all my time wondering what we are doing together when I could be thinking about other things, like my dissertation.”
    â€œWhat do you think we are doing together?” I said.
    â€œIt’s simple,” said Billy. “Some people have dogs or kitty cats. You’re my pet.”
    â€œCome on.”
    â€œOkay, you’re right. Those are only child substitutes. You’re my child substitute until I can make up my mind about having a child.”
    At this, my blood freezes. Whose child does she want to have?
    Every now and then when overcome with tenderness—on those occasions naked, carried away, and looking at one another with sweetness in our eyes—my mistress and I smile dreamily and realize that if we dwelt together for more than a few days, in the real world and not in some love nest, we would soon learn to hate each other. It would never work. We both know it. She is too relentlessly dour, and too fond of silence. I prefer false cheer to no cheer and I like conversation over dinner no matter what. Furthermore we would never have proper meals and, although I cannot cook, I like to dine. I would soon resent her lack of interest in domestic arrangements and she would resent me for resenting her. Furthermore, Billy is a slob. She does not leave towels lying on the bathroom floor, but she throws them over the shower curtain rod any old way instead of folding them or hanging them properly so they can dry. It is things like this that squash out romance over a period of time.
    As for Billy, she often sneers at me. She finds many of my opinions quaint. She thinks I am an old-time domestic fascist. She refers to me as “an old-style heterosexual throwback” or “old hetero” because I like to pay for dinner, open car doors, and often call her at night when Grey is out of town to make sure she is safe. The day the plumber came to fix a leak in her sink, I called several times.
    â€œHe’s gone,” Billy said. “And he left big, greasy paw prints all over me.” She found this funny, I did not.
    After a while, were we to cohabit, I believe I would be driven nuts and she would come to loathe me. My household is well run and well regulated. I like routine and I like things to go along smoothly. We employ a flawless person by the name of Mrs. Ivy Castle who has been flawlessly running our house for years. She is an excellent housekeeper and a marvelous cook. Our relations with her are formal.
    The Delielles employ a feckless person called Mimi-Ann Browning who comes in once a week to push the dust around. Mimi-Ann hates routines and schedules, and is constantly changing the days of the people she works for. It is quite something to hear Billy on the telephone with her.
    â€œOh, Mimi-Ann,” she will say. “Please don’t switch me. I beg you. Grey’s awful cousin is coming and the house is really disgusting. Please, Mimi. I’ll do anything. I’ll do your mother-in-law’s tax return. I’ll be your eternal slave. Please . Oh, thank you, Mimi-Ann. Thank you a million times.”
    Now why, I ask myself, does my mistress never speak to me like that?
    In the sad twilight on the way home from our week together, I asked myself, as I am always asking myself: could I exist in some ugly flat with my cheerless mistress? I could not, as my mistress is always the