Motel

III

It was October outside, but the drapes were drawn, and in the room it might have been any season. The bedclothes were rumpled, and a pillow was on the carpeted floor. Millie, in lavender tights and brassiere was applying lipstick at the mirror. In the bathroom, Frank was singing loudly. He sang badly off-key, and she could not recognise the tune.

“Frank?” she said.

“Mm?”

“Don’t you think you should call her?”

Frank came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, his hair wet. He had been growing a moustache for the past month, and he wore it with supreme confidence.

“What, honey?” he said.

“Don’t you think you should call Hope?”

“What for?”

“It’s pretty late. She...”

“Hell with her,” he said, and picked up his shorts and trousers, and went back into the bathroom again.

Millie put the cap on her lipstick, dropped it into the bag, and then picked up her hairbrush. Brushing out her hair, she said, “You still haven’t told me why Mae closed the shop so suddenly?”

“I guess she just got tired of it,” he said.

“Maybe she took a lover,” Millie said.

“What?” Frank said, and came out of the bathroom in his shorts.

“I said maybe she...”

“I doubt that sincerely,” Frank said.

“It’s a possibility,” Millie said, and shrugged.

“I doubt it.”

“You forgot to say sincerely.”

“I think she just got bored with selling antiques, that’s all,” he said, and stepped into his trousers and zipped up the fly.

“Probably the pitcher that did it,” Millie said. “My returning the ironstone pitcher. Michael says that stores operating on a small volume...”

“Mae’s shop wasn’t Bloomingdale’s,” Frank said, “but I’m sure a refund on a pitcher that cost fifteen dollars...”

“Seventeen dollars.”

“...wouldn’t drive her out of business. Anyway, why’d you return it?”

“I didn’t like having a pitcher belonging to another woman.”

“It didn’t belong to her. The moment you bought it, it became yours.”

“It still seemed like hers.” Brushing her hair, evenly stroking it, she said, “Would you like to know why she sold the shop? I can tell you, if you’d like to know.”

“Why’d she sell it?”

“Because of your trip last month.”

“My trip?”

“Mmm. Your second honeymoon,” Millie said.

“You mean the trip to Antigua?”

“Well, where else did you go last month?”

“That was not a second honeymoon,” he said. “Have you seen my shirt? Where’d my shirt disappear to?”

“I meant to tell you, by the way, that September is the hurricane season down there. Why anyone would go to Antigua in September is beyond me.”

Frank lifted the bedspread from one of the chairs; his shirt was not under it. “We had beautiful weather,” he said.

“Then why didn’t you come back with a tan? All you came back with was a moustache.”

“I also came back with a tan. Now where the hell is that shirt?”

“Not a very good tan, Frank. Would you like to know why? Because it was a second honeymoon, that’s why. It’s a little difficult to get a tan when you’re up in the room all day long.”

“We were not up in the room all day long,” he said, and got down on his knees and looked under the bed. “Now how did it get there?” he said, and reached under the bed.

“Then where were you?” Millie asked.

“In the water, most of the time.”

“Suppose a shark had bitten off your leg?”

“There were no sharks,” he said, and stood up, and shook out the shirt.

“A barracuda then. How could you have driven here to New Jersey with only one leg?”

“I’m back,” he said, putting on the shirt, “and I still have both my legs, so obviously...”

“Yes, but you never once gave it a minute’s thought, did you? When you were scuba-diving down there.”

“I was snorkelling.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Snorkelling is recreational. That’s the only reason I do it. For recreation.”

“Why’d you have to go all the way to Antigua to do it?”

“Mae wanted to go to Antigua.”

“So naturally, you went. Never mind me.”

“Millie, I was only gone for a lousy three weeks!”

“Twenty-four days, if we choose to be precise. And you never called me once,” she said, and threw the hairbrush into her bag, and crossed the room to the clothes rack, and took her blouse from a wire hanger.

“I couldn’t phone,” he said. “We were on the beach most of the day.”

“Didn’t you ever come off the beach?” Millie asked, and put on the blouse.

“We came off the beach, yes,” Frank said. “But there wasn’t a phone in the room. The only phone was in the lobby.”

“Then why didn’t you go up to the lobby and call from there?” she said, buttoning the blouse.

“Because it took hours to get through to the States.”

“Oh, then you did call the States,” she said, and turned to face him.

“Yes, I called the office once to see how the new campaign was shaping up.”

“But you couldn’t call me,” she said.

“Millie, this was a very isolated little hotel, with these small cottages on the beach, and...”

“Honeymoon cottages,” she said.

“Suppose Mae had seen me making a phone call?”

“You could have told her you were calling the office to check on your brilliant campaign.”

“I’d already called the office, and they’d told me my brilliant campaign was shaping up fine.”

“I still think you could have called me, Frank. If you hadn’t been so busy growing a moustache...”

“A man isn’t busy growing a moustache. It grows all by itself.”

“Yes, and there’s a very definite connection, too. Between a moustache and sexuality.”

“Take Michael, for example.”

“Don’t change the subject. If you hadn’t been so involved with Mae, if you hadn’t been enjoying your second honeymoon so much...”

“Millie, it was not...”

“Which, of course, is why she sold the damn shop ten minutes after you got back. She simply didn’t need it any more. She found her husband again.”

“Millie, it was not a second honeymoon. And I don’t think the Antigua trip was the reason Mae sold the shop. And I would have called you if it was at all possible; but it wasn’t. Would you hand me my tie, please?”

“I still think you could have called,” Millie said, and handed him the tie, and then said, “I went to bed with Paul while you were gone.”

“What!” he said, dropping the tie. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“Oh, for recreation,” she said airily.

He stared at her silently, and then picked up the tie, and turned to the mirror.

“I figured...”

“I’m not interested,” he said.

“That’s exactly what I figured. A man goes away for three weeks...”

“Twenty-four days.”

“Yes, and doesn’t even call the woman he professes to love so madly...”

“Yes, so the woman runs back to a two-bit sculptor she used to screw every Tuesday!” Frank shouted.

“Right!” she shouted back, and suddenly there was a hammering on the wall.

“Oh, hell!” Frank said. The hammering stopped. “You know what he does in there?” he asked Millie. “He’s not at all interested in that frumpy little blonde he brings here every week. All he does is sit in there and wait for us to raise our voices so he can jump up on the bed and bang on the wall. You hear that, you fat bastard?” he shouted. The man next door immediately hammered on the wall again. Frank went to the wall and began banging on it himself. The hammering on the other side stopped at once. Satisfied, he went back to the mirror and began knotting his tie.

“It was awful with Paul,” Millie said.

“Good.”

“Do you know what he’s into these days? Sculpting, I mean.”

“Nipples, I would imagine,” Frank said.

“Ears. His whole studio is full of these giant-sized ears.”

“Let me know when he gets to the good part, will you?”

“These huge ears all over the place.” She shook her head in wonder. “All the while we were making love, I had the feeling somebody was listening to us.” She went to the clothes rack, took down her skirt, and stepped into it. “I don’t know why I went there,” she said. “Maybe I sensed what was about to happen.”

The telephone rang. Frank went to it instantly, and picked up the receiver. “Hello?” he said. “Yes, this is Mr Mclntyre. Really?” he said. “Banging on the wall?

No, I don’t think so. Just a minute, please.” He turned to Millie, and said, “Darling, were you banging on the wall?” Then, into the phone again, he said, “No, nobody here was banging on the wall. Maybe it’s the plumbing. Have you had the plumbing checked lately? Well, that’s what I would suggest. Goodbye.” He hung up, went to the dresser again, scooped his change, keys, and wallet off the top of it, and put them into his pockets.

“Frank?” she said. “Do you think we’re finished?”

“No,” he said immediately.

“I think we are,” she said.

“Millie,” he said, “let’s get a couple of things straight, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Number one, the trip to Antigua was not a second honeymoon. The situation between Mae and me has not changed an iota.”

“What’s the situation?”

“Mae and I love each other, but we are not in love with each other.”

“You’re comfortable with each other, right?”

“Right.”

“Just a pair of comfortable old bedroom slippers tucked under the bed, right?”

“Right.”

“Then why didn’t you come back with a tan?” Millie said.

“Millie, let’s get a couple of things straight, okay?” he said.

“We already got the first thing straight,” she said, “so what’s the second thing?”

“The second thing is that I still feel the same way about you. I’ll always feel the same way about you, in fact.”

“That’s very nice,” she said. “How do you feel about me?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“But you don’t love me.”

“It’s the same thing, Millie. Being in love with someone and loving someone...”

“How come with me it’s the same thing, but with Mae it’s a totally different thing? A minute ago you were a pair of old bedroom slippers...”

“I’ve known Mae for twenty-two years,” he said. “I’ve only known you for ten months.”

“And twelve days.”

“Who’s counting?” Frank said.

“I am, damn it!” Millie said.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to...”

“I understand fine,” Millie said, and walked to where she’d left her pumps near one of the easy chairs. Sitting, she said, “Mae’s your wife, and I’m your Tuesday afternoon roll-in-the-hay.”

“Millie, that isn’t...”

“Look, Frank, you’re Italian and you’ve got all these romantic notions about being in love, but actually I think what you really enjoy most about coming here is the idea that I’m some kind of whore or something.”

“I have never thought of you as...”

“Have you ever thought of me as a mother, Frank?”

“A mother!”

“I have two children, you know. I have two adorable little girls that I made. Me. Personally.”

“With a little help from Michael, I assume.”

“What would you do if, with a little help from Michael, I got pregnant again? I can just imagine how that would sit with you. Big fat belly marching in here every week, what would that do to the image of the bimbo on the Via Margherita?”

“The what?”

“The Via Margherita. That’s where Italian men keep their little pastries.”

“I’m not an Italian man, I’m an American man.”

“Right, you’re Mr Mclntyre, right?”

“I’m Mr Di Santangelo, but I don’t have a bimbo on the Via Margherita, wherever the hell that may be. As a matter of fact, I don’t have a bimbo anywhere.”

“As a matter of fact, you have one right here in New Jersey,” Millie said. She reached down for one of her pumps, and without looking up at him, slipped her foot into it and said, “Michael wants to have another baby.” She put on the other shoe and only then looked up at him.

“What should I do?” she asked.

“That’s up to you and Michael, isn’t it?”

“It’s also up to you,” she said.

“Why don’t we arrange a meeting then? Three of us can discuss it, decide what we...”

“Do you want me to have a baby, Frank?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“Why not?”

“I hate babies,” he said.

“It wouldn’t be your baby.”

“I hate anybody’s babies.”

“How can a man who hates babies write a popcorn commercial with two little kids...?”

“That has nothing to do with it. I hate popcorn, too.”

“You’d never even see this baby,” Millie said. “All I’m trying to find out is whether you like the idea of me having one, that’s all.”

“No, I don’t like the idea.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like the idea of your having another man’s baby.”

“Another man? He’s my husband!”

“Anyway, what is this, a conspiracy or something? Is everybody in the whole world having a baby all of a sudden?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, and went immediately to the clothes rack, and took his jacket from its hanger.

“Who’s having a baby all of a sudden?” she asked.

“Millions of women,” Frank said. “Chinese women are having them right in the fields. As they plant the rice seedlings, they...”

“Never mind Chinese women, how many American women are having babies that you know of?”

“Right this minute, do you mean?”

“No, I mean nine months from last month when you and Mae were in Antigua working so hard on your suntans.”

“Mae, do you mean?”

“Is Mae pregnant?”

“Who? Mae?”

“Mae. Is she?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Which is why she ran out instantly to sell her little shop, right?”

“I don’t know why...”

“Probably at Bloomingdale’s this very minute, picking out a bassinette.”

“Millie...”

“Knitting little booties in her spare time,” she said, her voice rising, “papering the guest room with pictures of funny little animals! How could you do this to me, Frank?”

“To you?”

“Yes, to me!” she shouted. “Who the hell do you think?...”

“Please lower your voice,” he said. “If he bangs on the wall one more time, he’ll put a hole through it.”

Whispering, Millie said, “Didn’t you once consider the possibility that...”

“What? Now I can’t hear you at all.”

In her normal speaking voice, but enunciating each and every word clearly and distinctly, Millie said, “Didn’t you once consider the possibility that the thought of Mae having a baby might prove distressing to your lady friend on the Via Margherita?”

“Oh, cut it out with that Via Margherita stuff.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Do you know what you sound like, Millie?”

“What do I sound like?”

“A jealous wife.”

“I suppose I do,” she said. “But I’m not your wife, am I? I’m no more your wife than she is.” She gestured towards the wall and the room next door. “To him, I mean. The man who bangs on the wall.”

“Millie, I don’t think you need equate us with a frumpy blonde and a fat old man.”

“To him, she isn’t a frumpy blonde,” Millie said. “To him, she’s all perfume and lace, the girl on the Via Margherita. All right to open these drapes now?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said.

She pulled the drapes back on their rod. Sunlight splashed into the room. The day outside was clear and bright, the courtyard lined with the brilliant reds and oranges of autumn. She turned from the window, the sunlight behind her.

Frank looked at his watch. “We’d better get going,” he said. “Hope’s got a meeting scheduled for...”

“Just a few minutes more, Frank,” she said. “I gave you plenty of time on the train, when we were just beginning. I think you can give me a few minutes now... when we’re about to end.”

“End?”

“Yes, what do you think we’re talking about here?”

“Not ending, Millie.”

“No? Then what?”

“I don’t know. But two people can’t simply end something after ten months together.” He looked at his watch again. “Millie, really, we’ve got to go now, really. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay? I’ll call you in the morning...”

The telephone rang.

He looked at the phone, and then he looked at his watch again. The phone kept ringing, but he made no move to answer it. Millie went to it, and lifted the receiver, and said, “Hello?” and then listened, and then said, “No, I’m sorry, Mr Mclntyre isn’t here.” Gently, she replaced the receiver on the cradle. “The manager,” she said.

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know. The television’s off, and neither of us is yelling, and no one’s banging on the wall.” She shrugged. “Maybe he just felt lonely, Frank, and wanted to say hello.” She went to him. “The way we did, Frank.”

They looked at each other. It seemed for a moment as though they would move again into each other’s arms. But Millie turned away, and went to the dresser and picked up her bag.

“I think I’ll tell Michael okay,” she said.

“I think you already have,” he said.

“Maybe so,” she said.

She went to the door and threw back the slip bolt and opened the door wide. He came to her, and they paused before stepping out into the sunshine, and turned, and stared back into the room. Then, gently, he took her hand, and together they left the room, closing the door behind them.