Read Online The Housewife Blues by Warren Adler - Free Book Online Page A

elevator just as she was entering
her apartment. She had smiled politely, and they'd all nodded and moved past
her to the entrance of the building.
    She'd observed him again one late afternoon through her
front window. She guessed he was about fifteen or sixteen years old, a lanky,
handsome boy, still at the awkward age. He had jet black hair and a sallow
complexion like his mother's and wore blue pants and a gray sweater that had
some kind of insignia sewed on to it, and she'd speculated that he probably
went to some private school. Instead of coming in the front door, he had walked
the few steps down to the entrance of the ground-floor apartment. There he'd
fished in his pocket for a few moments, then let himself in with a key.
    It seemed rather odd, since he lived on the third floor.
She knew from the nameplates on the front door that the two gentlemen who lived
there were named Jerry O'Hara and Robert Schwartz. She had met one of them,
although she wasn't sure which one. He was a handsome blond man in his
mid-thirties who had rung her apartment buzzer one late afternoon looking for
his cat.
    "I'm so sorry to bother you," he had said,
smiling, showing even white teeth. "I seemed to have misplaced
Peter."
    "Peter?"
    "My cat," he said.
    She had seen a tabby sitting on the branch of the sycamore
directly across from her apartment window, assuming it was merely an alley cat
that had wandered about all night and was taking a morning respite. She hadn't
thought about it much until that moment.
    "A tabby?" she asked.
    "You saw him?"
    "Not today," she added quickly when she saw his
sudden eagerness.
    "Every time the maid comes this happens," the man
said, shaking his head. "Hates cats. Something very ... very unfeeling
about people who hate cats, don't you think?"
    She knew Larry hated cats, but only because he was allergic
to them. It was not the kind of information to pass along to a cat lover.
    "I haven't thought about it much," Jenny said.
"Growing up, I had dogs, standard poodles.... "She remembered that
she had begun to reminisce, but he had interrupted her.
    "I must get on with the search," he said,
hurrying away through the little lobby and out the door.
    But when she saw Teddy enter their apartment with a key,
she noted that there seemed to be a furtive air about him, as if he were doing
something illegal or forbidden. Admittedly she became mildly curious,
especially when it appeared to happen with some regularity.
    Bearing in mind Larry's caveat about not getting involved,
she forced herself to put it out of her mind, not mentioning it to Larry. Yet
it was Larry who brought it back to her attention.
    He had come in from his Sunday morning regular tennis game,
which by then had become a kind of ritual. She always had a wonderful breakfast
feast ready for him when he returned, mimosas, mushroom-and-cheese omelet,
homemade muffins and jam.
    Larry usually showered at the tennis club and came home in
a jogging outfit. But on this particular Sunday he had showered at home and
come to the table in his wine-colored terry-cloth Polo robe. As always, they
chatted about his game. He loved to recount his tennis prowess, cataloging
various killer shots that he had made to overwhelm his opponents. Larry liked
to win. When he didn't, he returned deeply depressed and was often irritable
for hours after.
    On this particular Sunday he had lost and was in a foul
mood. Married nearly three months by then, she knew these moods and had learned
that the best way to ride them out was to ignore them and proceed with any
conversation as if his mood were placid and content.
    "It was meeting those two fags that threw me off my
game," he said sourly, picking at his omelet.
    "Oh," she exclaimed, not knowing what he was
discussing.
    "Talked my ear off. Somehow the others managed to
avoid them by watching the ball game." Suddenly he pushed away the omelet
with disgust. "It's cold, Jenny."
    She rose, took the plate, and put it in the microwave.
    "Talk