as stone, throbbed inside his pants. The vein in the center of his forehead throbbed in counterpoint. He discovered booze under the small chromium sink in the corner. He yanked out half- and three-quarters-full bottles by the armload and then flung them at the closed door of the kitchen closet one by one, throwing them overhand as hard as he could; the next day his right arm would be so stiff and sore he would barely be able to lift it to shoulder level. Soon the blue closet door was running with Gilbey’s gin, Jack Daniel’s, J & B whisky, sticky green crème de menthe, the amaretto that had been a Christmas present from Roger and Althea Breakstone. Glass twinkled benignly in the hot afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows over the sink.
Steve tore into the laundry room, where he found boxes of bleach, Spic ’n Span, Downy fabric softener in a large blue plastic bottle, Lestoil, Top Job, and three kinds of powdered detergent. He ran back and forth through the kitchen like a lunatic New Year’s Eve celebrant, pouring these cleaning potions everywhere.
He had just emptied the last carton—an economy-size box of Tide that had been almost full—when he saw the message scrawled on the noteminder in Donna’s unmistakable spiky handwriting: Tad & I have gone out to J. Camber’s garage w/Pinto. Back soon.
That brought him back to the realities of the situation with a bang. He had already been here half an hour at least, maybe longer. The time had passed in a red blur, and it was hard to peg it any more closely than that. How long had she been gone when he came in? Who had the note been left for? Anybody who might pop in, or someone specific? He had to get out of here . . . but there was one other thing he had to do first.
He erased the message on the noteminder with one swipe of his sleeve and wrote in large block letters:
I LEFT SOMETHING UPSTAIRS FOR YOU, BABY.
He took the stairs two by two and came into their bedroom, which was to the left of the second-floor landing. He felt terribly pressed now, almost positive that the doorbell was going to ring or someone—another happy housewife, most likely—would poke her head in the back door and call (as he had), “Hi! Anybody home?”
But, perversely, that added the final spice of excitement to this happening. He unbuckled his belt, jerked his fly down, and let his jeans drop down around his knees. He wasn’t wearing underpants; he rarely did. His cock stood out stiffly from a mass of reddish-gold pubic hair. It didn’t take long; he was too excited. Two or three quick jerks through his closed fist and orgasm came, immediate and savage. He spat semen onto the bedspread in a convulsion.
He yanked his jeans back up, raked the zipper closed (almost catching the head of his penis in the zipper’s small gold teeth—that would have been a laugh, all right) , and ran for the door, buckling his belt again. He would meet someone as he was going out. Yes. He felt positive of it, as if it were preordained. Some happy housewife who would take one look at his flushed face, his bulging eyes, his tented jeans, and scream her head off.
He tried to prepare himself for it as he opened the back door and went out In retrospect it seemed that he had made enough noise to wake the dead . . . those pans! Why had he thrown those fucking pans around? What had he been thinking of? Everyone in the neighborhood must have heard.
But there was no one in the yard or in the driveway. The peace of the afternoon was undisturbed. Across the street, a lawn sprinkler twirled unconcernedly. A kid went by on roller skates. Straight ahead was a high hedge which separated the Trentons’ house lot from the next one over. Looking to the left from the back stoop was a view of the town nestled at the bottom of the hill. Steve could see the intersection of Route 117 and High Street quite clearly, the Town Common nestled in one of the angles made by the crossing of the two roads. He stood there on the stoop, trying to get his shit back together. His breath slowed a little at a time back into a more normal inhale-exhale pattern. He found a pleasant afternoon face and put it on.