Thirty Read Online Free PDF Page B

put on my diaphragm. I had stopped taking the pill when Howie and I decided that we had to have children to go with the house and the station wagon. I didn’t want to have children, but if I was going to have them it seemed only fair to let Howie father them.
    I watched him finish shoveling the path. The walk and driveway were already done. I checked myself in the mirror, looking to see if there was a gleam in my eye, a telltale gleam in my eye. I checked both eyes and saw no gleam, but I did seem to look younger and fresher than I had lately. Imagination? Wish father to the thought?
    He came to the door. So did I, from its other side, and opened it. If he noticed that I had changed from sweater and slacks to bathrobe he chose to ignore it.
    “All done,” he said.
    “You did a good job.”
    “Be no trouble getting the car out now.”
    “You must be tired.”
    “Well, it’s pretty hard work, but I don’t mind.”
    “Why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee?”
    “Well, uh, thanks, but I don’t really care for coffee.”
    I think groaned inwardly is what I did then. It seemed vital to get him inside. What could I offer him? Milk and cookies? Did we even have any in the house?
    “How about a beer?”
    “Well—” A tough decision for him. He didn’t want to come in but he really wanted the beer. The beer won.
    We sat at the kitchen table. There was just one goddamned bottle of beer left in the refrigerator. Howie drinks it when he watches ball games, never otherwise. I guess it fits his self-image then. He also is apt to take his shoes off and pick his feet. One trouble with marriage is that when people are truly relaxed in one another’s company they let down their defenses and become genuinely disgusting.
    I gave him the beer and made another cup of coffee for myself. We talked. The conversation went something like this:
    ME: Do you go to school?
    HIM: Over at East Central.
    ME: I suppose they closed the schools today.
    HIM: No, I cut when there’s a lot of snow. See, I can make thirty or forty bucks in a day. My old man gives me a note that I was sick.
    ME: And you just go door to door looking for work?
    HIM: That’s right.
    ME: You must meet a lot of interesting people that way.
    HIM: Well, just people, you know.
    ME: A lot of lonely women.
    HIM: Well, see, all I do is I shovel their snow, see, so I don’t really get to know too much about them.
    ME: Oh, I’m sure a lot of them make a play for you.
    HIM: I wouldn’t say that. And you know, most of them are pretty old, see, and there’s usually kids around the house or something.
    ME: As old as me, for instance?
    HIM: You’re not old.
    ME: How old do you think I am?
    HIM: Oh, I don’t know. I’m terrible at guessing ages. But to me a person is old or they’re not, see, and I would say that you’re not.
    ME: Do you think I’m attractive?
    HIM: You know, I’m getting funny feelings from this conversation. Like a little lost, if you know what I mean.
    ME: Aren’t you going to answer my question?
    HIM: I think you’re very attractive.
    ME: (opening her robe): Do you really think so?
    HIM: Jesus Christ.
    If there seem to be parallels between this and The Graduate rest assured that I was painfully aware of them at the time. But if I was less adept at this than Mrs. Robinson, he was neither as sensitive nor as reluctant as Benjamin, which made things somewhat easier. We went to the bedroom (I almost wrote upstairs) after a couple of urgent kisses in the kitchen and another in the hallway. He was in a fantastic hurry and seemed hard put to decide whether to undress or to have me as soon as possible. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes and socks, then his pants, then his shirt. He had his underpants on still. I got out of the robe and kicked off my slippers. He was staring at my breasts almost as intently as I was staring at the bulge in his underpants.
    I said, “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
    He looked down at his