three-thirty that afternoon, the mail slot in the front door clinked sharply; paper hit the hall floor with a soft whoosh, and the President’s wife, her teacup, and her carpets faded away instantly. Adele blinked to alertness and found that her tea had gone cold.
Rising from her seat, she wandered into the front hall, where she found a small white envelope, like one of those bearing invitations, along with some advertising flyers and the phone bill. The envelope was addressed to Cathy. It bore no return address but had a local postmark. Adele stared at it, trying to recognize the childlike printing. To her knowledge, Cathy hadn’t received any mail before, except for the odd birthday card from a school friend. But her birthday was months away.
The contents of the envelope felt stiff between Adele’s fingers. Piqued, she inserted her chubby index finger under the sealed flap and worked it along, rupturing the top crease of the envelope. Inside lay a three-and-a-half-by-five-inch index card with a printed message:
Dear Cathy:
A very precious gift I send to you
One very old, very special Indian head nickel
To bring you good luck always,
Your Secret Admirer
Taped to the bottom left-hand corner was an American Indian head nickel. Adele’s eyes flickered suspiciously over the message, settling on the words “Your Secret Admirer.”
That little Thompson tart had obviously had a secret admirer. And what had Louise De Finca said just yesterday? Bloated with sanctimony, the alto voice of the Italian neighbour from three doors down now rose in Adele’s mind.
Now this might not be what you want for your girl, of course...
Just a day ago, at the shopping plaza, Louise had said something like that, in reference to raising teenage daughters. At the time, the remark had seemed vaguely insulting, but Adele had let it pass because she wasn’t really sure what it referred to. Now she narrowed her eyes at the memory of it.
Louise De Finca’s husband, Angelo, owned a butcher shop on the far side of town. They had four daughters, one of whom was the same age as Cathy. Adele wondered if Louise had known something else the other day, some item of gossip—about Cathy and a boy—brought home from school by her daughter Sandra.
Maybe Louise had been mocking her, having a little bit of private fun. Enraged, Adele stuffed the index card back into its envelope, dropped it on the front hall table, and churned down the hall to the bathroom on her fat legs. She grabbed the can of cleanser from the edge of the sink, knelt down beside the tub, and began shaking green powder up and down its length, talking in a loud voice.
“As if I don’t know what my own daughter is up to. Do you think I don’t know what my own daughter is up to, Louise? Are you the only one who knows anything about raising children?”
She hollered the last question into the bathtub. Startled by her outburst, she paused, and then resumed her conversation in a harsh whisper.
“Secret admirer, my ass! There had better not be any nonsense with a boy going on behind my back, my lady, or your behind will be so red you won’t sit down for a week.”
By now, Adele’s fat, red hands were abruptly twisting the water taps on, and the small room filled with the sound of thundering water. She wet a scrubbing cloth and bent her girth over the tub rim, planting her left hand on the tub floor for support, and her right arm began to scrub, churning round and round in clockwise circles, grinding the cloth and the green cleanser over an imagined ring on the tub wall. Her breasts slipped over the tub edge and hung down into the empty space, swaying and jiggling with the motions of her arm. Fine gritty powder rose into the air.
“A very precious gift I send to you indeed. I’ll give you a precious gift, my girl, once I find out what’s been going on. My father didn’t have any nonsense in his house, by God, because he knew how to use a belt, and I don’t intend to have any either.”
Louise’s voice returned.
Neither Angelo nor I are prepared, Adele, to put up with any of today’s nonsense.
Adele’s arm ground the cloth around the curve of the tub, coming upon the water-spotted chrome faucet and taps. She shrilled aloud at her own bobbing reflection.
“Who do you think you are anyway, Louise?”
Adele felt cleanser grit collecting along her lips. She bent forward and took a mouthful of water from the faucet, swished, and spat.
Angelo and I made a rule, Adele. We decide these things together, as I’m sure you and Gerald do.
Huffing and puffing as she resumed scrubbing, Adele spoke aloud with an ever-rising pitch.
“Angelo, Angelo, Angelo! Big dumb Angelo! Doesn’t look as if he could decide his way out of a wet bag; only knows how to tie a bloody apron over that big stomach of his and stand behind a meat counter all day; he’s probably told when to go to the bathroom.”
Adele leaned close to the faucet to make a point and hollered above the din of the running water.
“We know he makes money, Louise. Everybody eats meat. It didn’t take brains to figure that business out.”
The heat of humiliation suddenly flashed through her as she remembered what her own husband, Gerald, did for a living. An itinerant pharmacist, a wanderer from the business of one to the business of another, always a fill-in, never an owner, never even acquiring the status of full-time employment with a single employer. The reminder fuelled her rage.
“Lackey! Spineless lackey, Gerald. No ability whatsoever to stand on your own two feet.”
The sight of her own teeth flashing in the wet chrome arrested her. She hauled her heavy breasts back over the tub rim and began to scrub in silence. Her thoughts continued to swirl.In a minute she was speaking again.
“By the gods, Cathy, you’d better be home here right after school, or you won’t live to tell about it.”
We told our girls, Adele, no dating until they’re eighteen and then only with young men we approve of beforehand. Neither one of us is prepared to put up with any of today’s nonsense. And if they don’t like it they can go board with the nuns. They know that I have all of that information handy in my dressing table drawer. I can have it all arranged in an hour. Now, this might not be at all what you want for your girl, of course.
Adrenaline shot through Adele. Both arms pumped furiously underneath her, up, down, up, down, up, down, as she bellowed into the trough of the tub: “What do you think this is, Louise? Open house? No rules? I let my kids run wild?”
The cloth flew out of her hands and landed on the floor behind her with a loud, wet splat. Defeated, she slumped back on her heels.
The school bus departed on its last journey of the year at its usual time that afternoon. By then, the day was darkening rapidly with an approaching thunderstorm. Behind the bus, the sky had already turned a deep steely blue, and dust and paper litter blew up at the sides of the roads, scurrying ahead with the message of impending rain. Cars began to drive with their headlights on, and the greengrocers in the centre of the city were out on the sidewalks
