In Renee’s dream, she was sitting at her kitchen table, wearing the luxurious new white Pratesi bathrobe Philip bought her at Christmas, working on the New York Times crossword puzzle and drinking her eighth cup of morning coffee. She knew it was her eighth cup because she had arranged the other cups in a large circle on the table so as to resemble the face of a clock. The phone was ringing, as it had been ringing all morning. Renee looked lazily in its direction, trying to decide whether or not to answer it.
Ultimately, its persistent ring persuaded her. Renee reached over, not moving from her seat at the kitchen table, and lifted the white phone to her ear. Even before she could say hello, a voice was speaking. “This is Marsha, from the Cross Your Heart and Hope to Die Dating Service,” the woman said, in harsh New York tones.
“We’re calling to tell you about our fabulous celebration.”
A face suddenly appeared to go with the voice. Marsha, of the Cross Your Heart and Hope to Die Dating Service, appeared, raven-haired and grossly overweight, the Cheshire cat behind the frightening smile.
“As you know, the Cross Your Heart and Hope to Die Dating Service has been bringing people together, people like you and your husband, for the last ten years.”
“No,” Renee started to tell her, reality intruding into her dream, trying to make its presence felt. She and Philip had been introduced to each other in a restaurant by a mutual acquaintance, who was surprised, even startled, by their marriage a scant five months later. No dating service had been required. “You must have the wrong number.”
“So the party we’re having,” the woman continued, oblivious to the interruption, “is half our celebration and half yours. We’re bringing all our happy couples together for a great big anniversary bash, and since you and your husband are one of our major success stories, we’re sure that you’d like to attend the festivities. Have you got a pencil to write down all the information?”
The woman metamorphosed from fat and dark-haired to blonde and petite. Her wrists were heavily bandaged.
The pencils sat in a glass jam jar on the other side of the phone, and in order to retrieve one, Renee had to step over the body of her husband, which was lying on the white tile floor in front of her, a wooden-stemmed butcher knife plunged rather neatly through his heart. Of course, technically speaking, Renee was aware she shouldn’t be able to see the knife from this angle, but she saw it nonetheless.
Philip was lying on his stomach, and except for a rather large pool of blood, he looked remarkably undisturbed, as if he merely decided to have a quick nap on the kitchen floor. He had done crazier things, Renee thought, stepping over him and grabbing a pencil from the glass jar. She informed the woman that she was ready, and listened as the woman dictated the time and place of the upcoming festivities, dutifully writing it all down, interrupting only long enough to ask the proper spelling of the designated street.
The police suddenly appeared, and waited patiently for her to take down all this useless information. She told them that she was a good girl, that she’d always been a good girl. They slapped handcuffs on her wrists and a gag into her mouth. Despite the gag, Renee informed them that she knew her rights and demanded to see her lawyer. They reminded her she was a lawyer. The corpse on the floor turned over and smiled. Its hand reached out and grabbed her ankle. “Got you,” he said.
Renee bolted upright in bed, her breath coming in short, angry bursts.
“What’s the matter?” Philip asked, sitting up beside her, obviously disoriented. “What happened?”
Renee brought her legs up to her chest, hugging her shins, resting her forehead against her knees. “I had a terrible dream.”
“Oh, Christ,” Philip said, and lay back down, collapsing against the pillow as if he had been pushed. “You scared me half to death.”
“Sorry.” She tried ridding her mind of the image of Philip lying dead on the kitchen floor. “It was a horrible dream.”
Philip said nothing.
“Do you want to hear about it?”
“No.”
Renee felt a short stab of resentment in approximately the same spot she had pictured the knife through Philip’s chest. You listened to Debbie’s dream without complaint, she wanted to say, but didn’t because she knew how childish it would sound, how childish it was. “I dreamt you were dead,” she told him anyway.
Philip turned on his side away from her. “That’s only natural under the circumstances.”
“It is? What circumstances?”
“Your sister’s husband died three months ago. Your sister is staying with us. You feel empathy for your sister. Simple transference.”
“I dreamt I killed you. I dreamt I stuck a knife through your heart.”
“Nice person.”
“It was awful. I feel terrible.”
“So you should. Come on, Renee. We can get another ten minutes sleep here.”
Renee looked through the darkness at the luminous face of the clock, recalling the final seconds of her dream, and seeing Philip’s ghoulish smile reflected on the clock’s surface. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice rising in alarm. “Does that say ten minutes to seven?”
“She reads too,” Philip said, covering his head with his pillow.
“I have to get up. I’m going to be late.” Renee threw off the covers, about to jump out of bed when Philip’s hand stopped her.
“What’s going on?” he asked patiently.
“I have a partners’ meeting in one hour! I’ll never be ready in time. I don’t understand what happened. I set the alarm for six-thirty.”
“I reset it for seven,” Philip said calmly.
“What?”
“I reset it for seven,” he repeated. “I thought it must be a mistake. Stop worrying—there’s no reason you can’t be ready in an hour.”
“Philip, you know how long it takes me to get ready. I have to shower and do my hair and put on my makeup …”
“And kiss your husband …”
Renee leaned forward, intending to kiss Philip on the side of his mouth, surprised when he quickly turned his head so that she was kissing him directly on the lips, even more surprised when the kiss grew into a passionate embrace. She pulled gently, reluctantly, out of his arms. “Philip, I have to go.”
“Can’t you spare a few minutes to tell your husband that you love him?”
Renee smiled. “I love you.”
“Can’t hear you.”
“I love you,” Renee repeated a little louder, giggling, feeling like a schoolgirl.
“Prove it.”
“Philip, I can’t. I have to go.”
“I love you,” he said, kissing her again, this time the kiss even more insistent.
Renee felt his tongue in her mouth, felt his hands slide gracefully up her arms to her shoulders, his fingers lowering the straps of her nightgown. “This isn’t fair.”
“What isn’t fair?”
“I’m late,” she whispered, feeling the nightgown drop to her waist, his hands at her breasts, his mouth buried against the side of her neck.
Renee pulled away, pulled up her nightgown, readjusting the straps. “I should have been up half an hour ago.”
“I didn’t oversleep. You reset the alarm clock. You shouldn’t have done that.”
“All right, so I made a mistake. But, frankly, you could use the extra sleep. You’ve been looking a little tired lately. You can’t tell me that your sister being here isn’t a strain. The extra sleep would do more for your appearance than a ton of makeup. Come on, Renee, you’ve still got lots of time to get ready. Indulge me. Make love to your husband.”
Renee was about to object when his fingers on her lips stopped her.
“We hardly have time to make love anymore. I remember when we first got married. You couldn’t wait for me to make love to you.”
“I still feel that way.”
“Do you?”
Renee felt Philip’s hands return to her shoulders, his breath slide close against her face.
“Tell me what you want, Renee,” he was saying. “I’m not going to do anything that you don’t really want me to. If this meeting is really so important to you, then I’ll understand.”
“Nothing’s more important to me than you are.”
“What do you want?” he asked again, his lips on the side of her neck. “Tell me what you want me to do. Do you want me to back off? Do you want me to leave you alone? Let you get ready?”
“I want you to make love to me,” Renee heard herself say.
“Do you?”
Renee nodded, her breath coming faster.
Renee felt his fingers teasing the front of her nightgown.
“Is it? Tell me.”
“Yes.”
“What else do you want?”
“Philip …”
“I won’t do anything that you don’t tell me to do.”
“Please …”
“Please what? This?” She felt his hands lifting the skirt of her nightgown, felt him push her back on the bed, lift the nightgown up to her waist. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“I can’t. I’m embarrassed.” She felt his hand between her legs.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
“Yes.”
“Then say it.”
“I want you to touch me.”
“Where?”
“Oh God, please …”
“Where do you want me to touch you? Here?”
Renee groaned.
“Do you want me to use my mouth?”
“Philip …”
“Say it.”
“I want you to use your mouth.”
“I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he was saying.
Renee closed her eyes, clutching at the pillow beside her head, feeling her husband’s tongue between her legs, hearing her own gasps through her open lips, feeling dangerously close to tears, frightened and not sure why.
“What do you want me to do now?” he was asking hoarsely.
“Whatever you want,” she said, not wishing to speak. “Do whatever you want.”
“No, we’re going to do what you want. Do you want me inside you?”
Renee tried to answer but no sound came.
“Say it,” Philip said, from somewhere above her. “Tell me you want me inside you.”
“Please … I want you inside me.”
She felt his hands lifting her buttocks, felt him plunge inside her roughly, repeatedly. She opened her eyes and saw him staring down at her. He was smiling.
When it was over, Philip sat up in bed and asked for some tissues. “Sorry I took so long,” he said with a nod toward the clock. “But it was your fault. You inspired me.”
Renee patted her perspiration-soaked hair. “I should call the office. Tell them I won’t be able to make the meeting.”
“Fuck ’em.” He smiled. “I guess we already did that.”
“Philip,” Renee began slowly, not sure this was the right time to bring the subject up but unable to think of a better one. “Have you thought anymore about what we talked about a few weeks ago?”
“What was that?”
“About having a baby,” Renee said quietly, still feeling Philip inside her.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said gently, resting his hand on her shoulder before walking into the closet and reemerging with his robe across his shoulders, monitoring himself in the mirror across from their bed.
“I’m just trying to be realistic, honey. How many things can one person do and do well? You’re already overloaded.” He looked from Renee to the clock beside their bed and back again. “You don’t have time to take a shower, for Pete’s sake. When are you going to find time to have a baby?”
“I’d make time.”
“As much time as you make for Debbie?”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, what’s not fair would be bringing another child into this already overcrowded world when you’re not fully prepared to look after it properly. I don’t want some housekeeper who doesn’t even speak English bringing up my child.”
“Philip, lots of women work and have children.”
“You’re not lots of women. You’re you. And right now the most important thing in your life is your career.” He laughed. “I almost have to make an appointment to make love to my wife.”
“I’d slow things down.”
Philip walked over to her side of the bed and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “You can’t slow down. Your mind is totally focused on your work. Even when we were making love, you were worried about what time it was. Weren’t you? Don’t try to tell me otherwise. I always know what you’re feeling.” He gave her a look of bemused resignation. “I’d love some bacon and eggs for breakfast,” he said on his way to the bathroom.
Renee sat for a few minutes on the side of the bed, then reached over and lifted the phone from its carriage. She dialed quickly, ignoring the fact her hands were shaking. “Hi, Dan. It’s Renee. I won’t be able to make the meeting. I haven’t been feeling so hot this morning. No, I think it was just something I ate. I’ll try to be in by nine o’clock. Thanks. I’m really sorry.”
Renee replaced the receiver and approached her image in the mirror. “Oh God,” she said, shuddering at the sight of her naked body. “How can he bear to look at you?” She turned, focusing on the pink welt that cut across her left buttock.
Philip had lately taken to punctuating their lovemaking with two sharp slaps to her backside. It had started several months ago, maybe longer, she thought now, trying to recall the exact occasion. She remembered them coming home from a party one night and making love in pretty much the usual way, when Philip had suddenly flipped her over onto her stomach and slapped her twice, hard, across the buttocks. The first slap had been like a rebuke—stinging, fast, sharp. The second had been more pronounced. It stayed, left a mark.
Renee studied the fading streak of color slashed across her pale flesh, realizing that this was a habit she didn’t think she liked. Still, she hesitated about mentioning it to Philip. He might accuse her of being uninventive, of not wanting to try new things. Renee dropped her gaze to the floor, careful not to look back in the mirror.
She found her nightgown in the middle of the mess of bedsheets, pushed it over her head and retrieved her terrycloth white robe—the same new white Pratesi robe of her dream—from the closet, pushing her arms through its sleeves, hearing Philip singing in the shower as she walked past the bathroom door.
Debbie was in the kitchen, standing by the sink and drinking a glass of orange juice.
Renee took a deep breath. “You’re up early.”
“You’re late,” Debbie answered, looking at her strangely. “Love your hair.”
Renee blushed and turned away, smoothing her hair behind her ears self-consciously.
“Kathryn still asleep?”
“She usually sleeps till around ten.”
Renee reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon.
“They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Debbie said, not even trying to keep the disdain from her voice.
“It’s for your father.”
Debbie nodded, saying nothing while Renee arranged the bacon in the frying pan.
“I want to thank you for being so sweet to Kathryn all week,” Renee told Debbie, surprised she could legitimately apply the word “sweet” to her stepdaughter. “I think it’s been good for her, having somebody around.”
Debbie shrugged. “You don’t have to thank me. I like her.”
“Well, it was nice of you to take the time …”
“Somebody should,” Debbie said pointedly. Renee wondered if the girl and her father had been communicating in their sleep.
“Something smells nice in here,” Philip said a few minutes later, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen.
“It’s all ready,” Renee told him, holding up the plate for his approval.
“Looks wonderful, but I really should get going. I didn’t realize how late it was.” He put his fingers to his mouth and blew his wife and daughter a kiss. “See you later.”
Renee stood for a moment with the plate of bacon and eggs in her hands. She watched Debbie deposit her empty glass into the sink without bothering to rinse it out.
“Excuse me,” Debbie said, slipping past her stepmother into the hall before disappearing into her room.
Renee carried the plate of bacon and eggs to the kitchen table and sat down, seeing the dream-image of her husband sprawled across the white tile floor, feeling his cold hand surround her ankle. She stuffed a piece of bacon into her mouth. “Got you,” she said.