The Lunar Housewife by Caroline Woods

Author:Caroline Woods [Woods, Caroline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2022-06-14T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

—

Harry and Glenys followed us outside when it was time to go. It had rained while we were in the hotel, and the lights of Times Square were magnified in shining puddles on the dark street. Joe’s award felt heavy in my purse. Glenys held Harry’s in both palms, her lip quavering. Our miserable mood had spread, it seemed, only to her; Harry seemed unaware of how ragged the rest of us were feeling. He used his lips to pull a cigarette from a soft pack he kept in his pocket, then gestured to Joe to stand between him and the wind so that he could manage a light. Joe’s body seemed to be made of granite. He kept his gaze distant from all of us.

“What a night, my good man,” Harry said, walking backward toward the avenue. Silently, we followed him. Glenys kept herself as far away from me as she could and would not look in my direction. I knew I’d only made it worse when I’d shouted, “Nothing happened,” and I feared that anything I had to add would only make her more suspicious.

“No need for the festivities to end now, am I right?” Harry continued. “We could have a drink at the Yale Club, or P. J. Clarke’s won’t be closed until—” His voice cut out as he stumbled against a garbage can, laughing and cursing. His polished dress shoes splashed messily into a brown puddle.

Joe reached out, ostensibly to steady his friend, but I could see the vise grip with which he squeezed Harry’s biceps. Harry winced.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight,” Joe said in a low growl. “Louise and I are going home.” He held on for a moment longer than he needed to, then pushed Harry aside and continued on down the sidewalk.

“What the hell’s eating you?” Harry called after us. Joe ignored him. The first cab that passed us he signaled to stop, without waiting to see if our friends could get a taxi, too. When I turned around, as I was getting into the back seat, I saw the two of them standing where we’d left them, by the trash can, Harry swaying on his feet as Glenys spoke to him, crying.

Our taxi smelled, unfortunately, of salami. Joe sat slumped against his door, not looking at me. I kept my hands wrapped around my pocketbook, perched primly on my stiff knees. “I feel as if I’ve entered the principal’s office,” I said at last, to break the silence.

“What’s done is done,” Joe muttered to the window. “I’m not going to shout at you.”

“I didn’t sleep with Harry,” I replied.

His lips tensed. “I’m not talking about that. I meant your little performance onstage.”

“My little performance?” I said, turning toward him. I tried lifting the knee closer to him onto the seat, so that I could face him better, but that hurt my belly. “Hell,” I muttered, reaching under my dress to undo the zipper on my waist cincher. I breathed a sigh of relief.

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