would certainly not fall out of any windows with them. Would they even care about Billy? Were they even Ted’s in-laws any longer? None of it made sense to him. None of them could have Billy. He was his child. He belonged to him, that peanut face. Ted would do the best he could. It was what he wanted.
He met Billy at school and brought him home. Thelma called and offered to take him. The children played well together. It was no imposition. She wanted to know if he had heard from Joanna. He owed people an explanation, he thought, so he told Thelma that Joanna was not coming back. She was giving up Billy. Thelma gasped. He could hear it over the phone, a palpable gasp.
“Good Lord!”
“It’s not the end of the world,” he said, giving himself a pep talk. “It’s a beginning.”
“Good Lord!”
“Thelma, we sound like we’re in a soap opera. These things happen,” he said, although he could not think of it happening to anyone he had ever known.
The phone was busy the rest of the day. He had fallen into a pat explanation: Joanna apparently had to get out of what she viewed as an impossible situation. She would not seek outside help, and that was the way it was. People were offering child care, meals, anything they could do to help. Bring her back, he thought, just bring her back.
While Billy played at Thelma’s house, Ted went through the boy’s clothes, his toys, his medicines, trying to familiarize himself with his needs. Joanna always took care of these details.
The next day, a brief note came to Ted, again without a forwarding address, this time with a Lake Tahoe, Nevada, postmark.
“Dear Ted: There is a certain amount of legal shit. I’m having a lawyer send papers regarding our pending divorce. Also am sending you documents you need for legal custody of Billy. Joanna.”
He thought it to be the ugliest note he had ever seen in his life.
SIX
B EFORE HE CALLED HIS parents or hers or anyone else, he called Mr. Gonzales, who was suddenly the most important person in the world to reach. Mr. Gonzales was his customer’s representative at American Express. The $2000 Joanna had taken from their joint savings account was the exact amount her parents had given them when they were married. Ted assumed she thought of it as her money. They both had American Express cards, but Ted was listed as the policy holder. All her statements came to him. She could have been out there, flying to different cities, signing for gin-and-tonics at swimming pools, taking gigolos up to her room—and the bill would come to him. Now, that was a cuckold, he decided, modern style. He called Mr. Gonzales and had their cards voided with a new card number issued for him.
M RS. COLBY ADVERTISED IN The New York Times and the Yellow Pages, “Household help for discriminating people.” As an advertising man, Ted placed a value on the word “discriminating” as meaning “we charge more.” At least Mrs. Colby did not also advertise window washers and floor scrapers as part of her personnel, as some of the others did. He wanted an agency in the business of supplying reliable people who did this kind of thing for a living. He was not certain at first just what kind of thing this was. He found himself involved in calibrations he never conceived of—do you go for someone stronger on cleaning than cooking, stronger on child care than cleaning? The advice of friends was, You’ll never get anyone good at everything, which collided with his fantasy of a Mary Poppins straightening out his life. He had rejected the idea of Billy’s being in a day-care center. The day-care centers in the city were a scandal—reduced funds, poor facilities—he would have trouble on his income getting him in anyway, and he did want to keep Billy’s routine on some normal pattern. He went to see Mrs. Colby in her Madison Avenue office. On the walls were letters of recommendation of people from U. N. delegates to borough presidents of Brooklyn. Her office
He met Billy at school and brought him home. Thelma called and offered to take him. The children played well together. It was no imposition. She wanted to know if he had heard from Joanna. He owed people an explanation, he thought, so he told Thelma that Joanna was not coming back. She was giving up Billy. Thelma gasped. He could hear it over the phone, a palpable gasp.
“Good Lord!”
“It’s not the end of the world,” he said, giving himself a pep talk. “It’s a beginning.”
“Good Lord!”
“Thelma, we sound like we’re in a soap opera. These things happen,” he said, although he could not think of it happening to anyone he had ever known.
The phone was busy the rest of the day. He had fallen into a pat explanation: Joanna apparently had to get out of what she viewed as an impossible situation. She would not seek outside help, and that was the way it was. People were offering child care, meals, anything they could do to help. Bring her back, he thought, just bring her back.
While Billy played at Thelma’s house, Ted went through the boy’s clothes, his toys, his medicines, trying to familiarize himself with his needs. Joanna always took care of these details.
The next day, a brief note came to Ted, again without a forwarding address, this time with a Lake Tahoe, Nevada, postmark.
“Dear Ted: There is a certain amount of legal shit. I’m having a lawyer send papers regarding our pending divorce. Also am sending you documents you need for legal custody of Billy. Joanna.”
He thought it to be the ugliest note he had ever seen in his life.
SIX
B EFORE HE CALLED HIS parents or hers or anyone else, he called Mr. Gonzales, who was suddenly the most important person in the world to reach. Mr. Gonzales was his customer’s representative at American Express. The $2000 Joanna had taken from their joint savings account was the exact amount her parents had given them when they were married. Ted assumed she thought of it as her money. They both had American Express cards, but Ted was listed as the policy holder. All her statements came to him. She could have been out there, flying to different cities, signing for gin-and-tonics at swimming pools, taking gigolos up to her room—and the bill would come to him. Now, that was a cuckold, he decided, modern style. He called Mr. Gonzales and had their cards voided with a new card number issued for him.
M RS. COLBY ADVERTISED IN The New York Times and the Yellow Pages, “Household help for discriminating people.” As an advertising man, Ted placed a value on the word “discriminating” as meaning “we charge more.” At least Mrs. Colby did not also advertise window washers and floor scrapers as part of her personnel, as some of the others did. He wanted an agency in the business of supplying reliable people who did this kind of thing for a living. He was not certain at first just what kind of thing this was. He found himself involved in calibrations he never conceived of—do you go for someone stronger on cleaning than cooking, stronger on child care than cleaning? The advice of friends was, You’ll never get anyone good at everything, which collided with his fantasy of a Mary Poppins straightening out his life. He had rejected the idea of Billy’s being in a day-care center. The day-care centers in the city were a scandal—reduced funds, poor facilities—he would have trouble on his income getting him in anyway, and he did want to keep Billy’s routine on some normal pattern. He went to see Mrs. Colby in her Madison Avenue office. On the walls were letters of recommendation of people from U. N. delegates to borough presidents of Brooklyn. Her office
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