Bridge Night

Patsy Cline’s “Walking After Midnight” played faintly over the sound of dishes clanking in the sink. The radio crackled with sporadic static –reminding its most avid user that the set was aged far beyond its prime. It was an heirloom, though. A single lamp projected a hazy, dim light over the kitchen. Night had settled over the house in dark silence.

The children had been put to bed – Mary in her pink wonderland and Stan Jr. in his wild jungle. Stan, meanwhile, sat in his recliner, smoking a cigar and watching some cheap, raucous Western on the television. Stan loved his Westerns. They held the esteem of being the only things in the world that could garner his affections.

Nancy hummed gently with the song as she washed away the remnants of gelatin salad from the good crystal tray. She watched as the little bits swirled down the drain along with the sudsy bubbles of Joy Liquid Soap – a special gift to Nancy from her ever-thoughtful husband. That was after he came home six hours late and rip-roaring drunk.

“I go out walkin’ after midnight

Out in the moonlight

Just like we used to do, I’m always walkin’

After midnight, searchin’ for you”

Tell me about it, sister, Nancy thought to herself. It’s not worth a minute of your time, I’ll tell you that much. You’d better just leave him out there. She paused from her work, and, looking up, she admired the small white sparkles that dotted the dark blue sky beyond her window. She felt that strange pulling in her heart again. Patsy always could get her to feeling that way.

For a moment, she imagined she was weightless, transparent, floating up through the glass pane and into the deep eternity above. She dreamed that the sky would open up and spirit her away into some far-off haven all her own – where she would play her favorite records, drink Coca Cola, and read Emily Dickinson all day long. And she would sleep – God, she missed sleep dearly – to her heart’s content. It was an escape she had fantasized of more and more often lately.

“Nancy, bring me a beer,” Stan called from the den, bringing her back into the moment.

“Yes, dear!” she replied, mustering all the enthusiasm she could. She removed her yellow rubber gloves, and tucked an errant hair behind her ear. She rushed to the icebox. Opening the heavy door, she found a glistening can – the last of a twelve-pack purchased earlier that day. She picked it up and glided soundlessly through the hallway. The carpet crunched crisply beneath her shoes, causing her heels to sink, slightly, into the floor.

“Here you are, sweetheart.” The beloved beer was extended as if a hand of friendship.

Stan plucked it from her grasp wordlessly, instead standing up to turn up the volume on the television. Some cowboy, maybe Wyatt Earp, hurried across the screen on his horse. He sank back into his chair.

Still smiling, Nancy nodded and started back to her work. Oh, you’re quite welcome, dear, she thought. On the way back to the kitchen, she noticed her deck of cards still lying on the dining room table. She picked them up, shuffling them absently. It had only been a few hours earlier when her lady friends had sat at the table with her.

*****

“Nancy, you must give me the recipe to your gelatin salad. It’s simply lovely,” Caroline Harrison had said at a volume above what was necessary.

“Oh, but it’s only Betty Crocker,” Nancy replied, looking up from her hand. “I believe you made the same one when we played bridge at your house last month.”

“Did I? Oh, no, honey. I would remember something like that. Of course, you know I have Betsy do most of the cooking for these things. I’m just too busy,” Caroline said with a wave of a hand. She wore a brand-new plaid pantsuit, and her hair was arranged with the use of so much aerosol hairspray that it was unlikely to come undone any time that month. Her lipstick was a bright red.

“We aren’t all so lucky to have live-in help,” Joan Davis mused between puffs on her cigarette. She stared up and watched the smoke rise toward the ceiling lamp. Her false nails clicked on the surface of the hardwood table.

Silence fell over the women.

“Let me get you all some more iced tea from the kitchen,” Nancy said suddenly, wanting an excuse to remove herself. She smoothed her skirt and walked into the kitchen. She grabbed a fresh pitcher and reluctantly made her way back to the dining room. She paused short of the door.

“I was just trying to pay her a compliment. Lord knows she needs one. She’s just so sad. She isn’t much of a wife and hardly counts as a mother. And you can tell something’s wrong with her,” she heard Caroline say in a manner which, Nancy assumed, was meant to resemble a sensible whisper.

“Well, of course something’s wrong with her. Her husband is a stinking drunk who doesn’t mind getting the clap as long as it means he gets laid. She’s probably got something,” Joan replied. The two snickered.

Nancy stood at the door a minute longer. She waited patiently for the words of her girlfriends to register in her heart. Would there be anger to bubble up and redden her cheeks, or would that familiar sadness bear down? In accordance with what had become usual, nothing came. She felt no tears nor a desire to confront the women. Funny, how they think any of it matters. Instead, she swung the door open, the smile still plastered onto her face.

“More iced-tea, ladies?” She refreshed the women’s glasses to the brim. The two women gazed back at her, feigning the affection that friends of a more authentic breed should feel for one another. She thought of wistfully of Alice.

*****

Nancy took her cards and tossed them in the wastebasket.

“Going to bed!” Stan called from the den. From inside the kitchen, Nancy caught the familiar sounds of his drunken struggle to get up. “Aargh! Damn table. Who the hell,” he paused to belch, “put that there?” He staggered into the hallway.

“Now – Now, Nancy…” he started. He leaned against the doorway for balance. The darkness in the hallway cast a shadow over his face. His breath came out in audible rasps from his mouth.

“Dear?”

“We can’t have that table in there – there in the…the living room. I’m gonna get rid of that piece o’ junk first thing in the morning – and I don’t want to hear a word about it. That’s all there is too it. That’s just all there is too it.”

Nancy had already opened her mouth in protest. Her grandmother had given her that table.

“What’d I just say?” he said before she could speak. He leaned out from the shadow. His eyes were black, his face a hellish red. His fists were clenched. She remembered how bad they could sting – how they could connect with her bones in such a way that left her numb for weeks on end. How they could squeeze the breath right out of her body.

“If that’s what you think is best, dear,” she shrugged.

He grinned, baring a set of yellow-tinged teeth. “It is best. It’s best, I tell you. If it wasn’t, why would I say it?”

She knew better than to contradict him or to say anything that might imply she disagreed. Her eyes fell to the tile floor.

“Of course,” she said, forcing a small smile.

“Then it’s settled. See, it’s always better when you see things my way – and on the first try.” He yawned. “Make my lunch before you come to bed. I want some of that roast beef you made the other night. I meant to - to tell you, it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever made. Still, give me some ketchup to go with it.”

“Okay, dear! Yes, dear,” Nancy replied back. Lazy bastard.

Stan stumbled down the hall toward the bedroom, knocking a frame loose from the wall. Glass shattered softly.

*****

After she’d made Stan his roast beef sandwich and set it out in a brown paper bag, Nancy slid out of her heels and padded quietly to her bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she knelt next to the tub and turned the dial on the faucet. A clear, steady stream appeared.

If this water could just wash away my whole life, she thought as the bottom of the tub began to fill. It will do enough.

She slipped out of her dress and took out the cold cream out from the cabinet, wiping away the leftovers of mascara and eye makeup. Her blushing cheeks went next. Then, her red smile. She was herself again. Reaching out to her reflection in the mirror, her fingertips pressed the cold glass and left behind a gray print.

The water had reached its peak in the tub. She turned the dial to stop the flow and tentatively stepped into the hot water. She sat down and sank until all but her head was submerged. She leaned back against the rim of the tub.

*****

The sounds of a woman sobbing could be heard from beyond the door of the private chapel room.

“Nancy, wipe that sorry look of your face and stand up, for God’s sake,” Mrs. Adelaide Parker said to her daughter. She poked at Nancy’s spine with her fingernail. Nancy clutched a wooden chair and was bent over, her face buried in the crook of her arm.

“But mother, I can’t do this. I can’t marry him,” Nancy said through her tears. Streaks of black, from her running mascara, stained the lace sleeve of her itchy gown. It had belonged to Stan’s mother, and felt like Margaret herself was squeezing Nancy into compliance.

“And why ever not? Stanley is a fine gentleman, and from such a good family! I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you can’t possibly think that you can do better than him,” her mother replied. She dabbed at her daughter’s face with a handkerchief.

“No, I don’t think I can do better. It’s just that, well, I could live without a husband, couldn’t I?” Adelaide gasped at the words.

“Could you live without a husband?! Certainly not. How could you think of something so stupid? My own daughter says this.” She massaged her temples.

“Mother...” Nancy pleaded.

“No! Don’t you call me that. Would a good daughter willingly put their mother an early grave by telling her that she intends to have absolutely no future? No security and peace of mind for not only her, but her loving parents, who have given everything to give her a good life? God, what did my dear Ernest and I do to deserve this?!”

“Mother, please. I want a future. Can’t it just be a little different?” Nancy examined her cuticle.

“A little different. Jesus. You aren’t a delinquent, are you? Because your father and I did not raise a delinquent. Or a heretic, for that matter.”

“I’m not a delinquent. You know that I’m not. I just thought that, well, I was talking with Alice, and we were thinking of...”

“Alice!” Adelaide interrupted, putting her hand over her heart. “I won’t hear of that wayward girl in God’s house. She is a menace to you, to me, and our family. She isn’t right. She just isn’t right, Nancy.”

“What isn’t right about her, mother? She’s my dearest friend. She cares about me and I care about her.”

Adelaide shrieked at her daughter’s words. Nancy’s face suddenly stung. She reared back.

“You listen to me, girl,” Adelaide whispered as she closed the gap. Her eyes were dark and wide with fury.

“You will not disgrace me. You will not disgrace the family name. You will marry that boy and forget about all these silly ideas you have in your head.”

Nancy’s tears flowed once more. Adelaide pulled her into a forceful hug.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“There, there. It’s not too late to do the right thing.”

Twenty minutes later, Nancy walked down the aisle, her arm interlocked with her father’s. Holding his arm tightly, she wished she could confide in him like she had as a girl. Perhaps he could help her out of this, like he had helped her out of the childish troubles that once aggravated her mother. He was not the same man now that he had been then, though.

“Josie, let up on my arm,” Ernest whispered, mistaking Nancy for her sister, Josephine, long dead and long the most celebrated of the Parker children. He had done things like this more and more often since the accident. He resumed his superficial grin, playing for the audience. All hope was lost. With just a few words and a nod, she was transferred into Stan’s ownership.

As the preacher spoke the final pieces of the ceremony, the bride’s eyes locked with those familiar, welcoming ones owned by her dear friend in attendance. They shared one last desperate glance.

She now belonged to Stan.

He would shut her up in his menagerie of collectibles, human and otherwise.

*****

All kinds of thoughts swam through her head. She thought of that heathen, that so- esteemed Stan, the pig of a man who stole her away from life and her family and friends, from her small enjoyments – her solitude, her reading, her dreams – with promises of love and happiness. Don’t forget the security. He who put two babies in her belly between banging every floozy at the bar and coming home drunker than a skunk night after night after night. I wish I could see the look on his face when he finds me, she thought. And I hope he knows he had a hand in it. She smiled at the thought.

Her mother, Adelaide, then overtook her thoughts. “What good daughter sends her mother into an early grave?” she remembered her say. But what kind of a mother sells their daughter into domestic slavery for the sake of a family name and money? Answer me that. Adelaide had broken her heart. Nancy felt a hurt deep in her core. She wanted so badly to hate her, but the connection of blood between them prevented it. Ha, the kind whose husband has to get dementia and die just to get some peace of mind.

She thought of her friends, the women like her who lived to serve their husbands and children. Who held bridge parties and fancy dinners and went to PTA meetings. Whose whole lives depended on the state of their lawn. Mrs. Caroline Harrison can eat me, and Mrs. Joan Davis, too, for that matter. They could never hold a candle to her dear Alice. She wondered what had happened to her.

But the children! she remembered suddenly. I hope it doesn’t trouble them much. They didn’t ask for what’s happened to them. I’ve never been a good mother. I never wanted to be one. She looked down at the stretch marks on her stomach. A tear fell from her eye, receding into the greater body of water that contained her nude form.

*****

The hospital was dreary. The room was gray and smelled of harsh chemicals and heavy medicines. The air was hot and still. It felt like death.

Nancy’s stomach bulged and contorted, her body ached with the deep pains of labor. Stan was absent. He was at the Pearly Girl, downing a shot of whiskey with a girl named Tina clinging to his arm. Adelaide was busy tending to her garden, preparing for a special tea with the ladies of her society club. Ernest was laid up in bed, muttering some nonsense about Josephine or his appointment to play golf at the country club. Except for the doctor and the nurses, who would charge her a pretty penny for their support, Nancy was utterly alone.

If I died on this table, no one would know for hours, she thought. The idea struck her. Oh please, let me die here on this table. Then I won’t have to go home and pretend this is what I wanted. No such luck.

The doctor injected something into her arm. Two nurses hovered above her, cooing pleasantries and encouraging phrases. Nancy felt foggy. The world about her became blurry. The shapes of the women changed, making them larger than life. They towered over her like white pillars. The doctor hovered like a predator who’d finally restrained his prey.

It seemed like years that she lay there, catatonic and nearly numb. Her body was stretched like putty.

“Here’s one!” the doctor said. He lifted one baby, and handed it to the nurse. Another arrived shortly after. He smiled widely at Nancy, who peered at the strange things from over her stomach. How they cried. They were hers. They looked like Stan.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Williams.”

She wished she could accept the good wishes with any authenticity.

*****

Nancy let out a deep breath and reached over to the caddy beside the tub. This is it. She pulled out Stan’s shaving razor. She held it out in front of her. It was gleaming, practically new. He rarely shaved, nowadays.

So sorry, Stan, darling. I needed to use it more than you did. I hope you don’t mind.

She held out her wrist. With a small smile, she made a deep, vertical slice from her left hand to midway up her forearm. It hurt, but, though she whimpered, it was not the worst pain she had experienced. Not so bad, not so bad at all. The other wrist was cut. She expected herself to panic, to cry out and change her mind. No such thing occurred. Instead, relaxation fell over her as she watched the water turn red around her.

Her vision reduced slowly to a pinhole of light. The bathroom, the house, Stan, and her whole life were disappearing. Joy filled her. She let out a long breath. Her body sank.

She floated, up, up, out of the tub. Through the ceiling, the rafters, the roof. And into the darkness of the midnight sky.

*****

Stan awoke from his slumber to find Mary and Stan Jr. sitting cross-legged just outside the bedroom door. They held their mother’s playing cards, imitating a game. Down the hall, the light from inside the bathroom flickered audibly.