Man, woman, and child(4)

"Honey, if all authors wrote like Churchill, you'd



be unemployed. But anyway, let's neither of us work tonight."

'Tine. Whafd you have in mind?" Her green eyes were shining. His heart ached at the thought of what she would have to hear.

"I love you/' he said.

''Good. But in the meanwhile set the table, huh?"

''Daddy, when you were my age, how much television could you watch?" Paula glanced at Bob seductively.

"When I was your age, there was no TV."

"Are you that old?"

"What your father means," said Sheila, glossing Bob's hyperbole, "was he knew that reading books was more rewarding."

"We read books in school," said Paula. "Can I watch the tube now?"

"If all your homework's done," said Sheila.

"What's on?" said Bob, dutifully taking an interest in his offsprings' cultural activities.

''Scott and Zeldd/' Jessica replied.

"Well, that sounds vaguely educational. On PBS?"

"Oh, Daddy," Jessie said with much exasperation, "don't you know anything?"

"Listen, I've read every book Scott wrote, if you don't mind."

''Scott and Zelda is a series," Paula said disgustedly.

"About a dog from Mars and a girl from California," Jessie added.

"Fascinating. Which is which?" said Bob.

"Oh, Daddy, even Mom knows that."

Sheila looked at him with love. We poor benighted souls, she thought. We aren't with it anymore.



"Honey, go and view with them. Til clear the table."

"No," said Bob. "FU clear it. You go watch Scott the Wonder Dog."

"Dad, Zelda is the dog," Paula frowned, and dashed off to the living room.

"Coming, Mom?" said Jessie.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," said Sheila as she watched her tired husband piling up the dinner dishes. "See you later, Robert"

"Yeah."

He waited until he was sure the girls were fast asleep. Sheila was curled up on the couch with a "ridiculously filthy" Hollywood novel. Jean-Pierre Rampal was playing Vivaldi, and Bob was pretending to read The New Republic. Tne tension was unbearable.

"Want a drink, hon?"

"No, thanks," said Sheila, looking up.

"Mind if I do?"

"Since when do you have to ask permission?" She went back to her novel.

"Incredible," she murmured. "You won't believe how they do it in this chapter. Right in the middle of Rodeo Drive."

Oh, God, he thought, how can I do this?

"Hey—can we talk for a second?"

He was now sitting a few feet from her, an unusually tall Scotch in his hand.

"Sure. Is something wrong?"

"Well, sort of. Yes."

He lowered his head. Sheila was suddenly frightened. She put her book down and sat upright.

"Bob, you aren't sick, are you?"

No, I just feel that way, he thought. But shook his head. "Honey, I gotta talk to you about something."



Sheila Beckwith felt a sudden shortening of breath. How many of her friends had heard their husbands open conversations with preambles just hke this? We have to talk. About our marriage. And from the grim expression on Bob's face, she feared that he, too, was about to say, '*It isn't working anymore."

''Bob," she said with candor, "something in your voice scares me. Have I done anything?"

''No, no. It's me. I've done it."

"What?"

"Oh, Jesus, you don't know how hard this is to say."

"Please, Robert, the suspense is killing me."

Bob took a breath. He was shaking.

"Sheila, remember when you were pregnant with Paula?"

"Yes?"

"I had to fly to Europe—Montpellier—to give that paper...."

"And . .. ?"

A pause.

"I had an affair." He said it as quickly as he could. Like ripping off a bandage fast, to cause less pain.

Sheila's face went ashen.

"No," she said, shaking her head violently as if to drive out what she had just heard. "This is some terrible joke." She looked at him for reassurance. "Isn't it?"

"No. It's true," he said tonelessly. "I—I'm sorry."

"Who?" she asked.

"Nobody," he replied. "Nobody special."

"W/io, Robert?"

"Her—her name was Nicole Gu6rin. She was a doctor." Why does she want to hear these details? he wondered.



''And how long did it last?"

"'Two, three days."

"Which—two days or three days? I want to Icnow, dammit."

"Three days," he said.

""And three nights," she added.

"Yes," he said. "Does all this matter?"

"Everything matters," Sheila answered, and then said to herself, "Jesus."