Free The Housewife Blues by Warren Adler Page A

said.
    "Sit anywhere you're comfortable," Jenny said,
flourishing her hand toward the living room. He sat stiffly on one of the
upholstered chairs, pulled out a book from his carryall, and began to read.
    She went into the kitchen and put the kettle up to boil,
peeking into the living room occasionally. She noted that Teddy did more
staring into space than reading.
    When the water was at a boil, she poured hot water over tea
bags, put the two cups on a tray along with brownies, and brought them into the
living room. She put the tray on the cocktail table in front of the couch.
    "Mind if I take a break with you?" Jenny asked,
sitting on the couch opposite the chair on which Teddy sat. Not waiting for an
answer, she patted the pillow next to where she was seated, and the boy rose
and sat down beside her.
    "I can't believe I lost them," Teddy said.
    "I'm sure they'll turn up,"
    "Typical, I suppose," Teddy said, a frown
creasing his smooth brow. "My dad thinks I'm a screw-up anyhow."
    She hadn't expected such swift intimacy, and knowing what
she knew, it made her both uncomfortable and expectant. Strangers on a train,
she thought. Perhaps he wants to reach out.
    "Sometimes fathers need a bit of growing up," she
said, biting into a brownie, feeling compelled to ally herself with the boy.
His brown eyes seemed to indicate a deep, troubling vulnerability, as if he
were carrying a heavy secret too weighty for his years.
    "He's got his own problems these days." Teddy
sighed.
    "Does he?"
    The boy shrugged, and she could hear warning bells go off
in her mind. But before she could build up any defenses to deflect further
intimacy, he was blurting out family events that were better left unsaid.
    "Mom's not well, and the recession has really hurt
Pop's real estate business."
    "That's too bad," Jenny said.
    "They really can't afford to send me to private school
anymore," the boy said. "And here I am getting rotten marks."
Teddy had been looking into his teacup. Suddenly he raised his eyes and his
gaze met hers. "We may even get evicted from this place."
    "Evicted?"
    "Thrown out," Teddy said, sighing.
    "How awful," Jenny said.
    "Pretty hairy."
    "If that happens, what will you do?" Jenny asked.
    "I'm not sure. I don't even like to think about it.
Mom pushes herself to go to work. Doctor says she got a bad heart and shouldn't
be working. But we need the bread. Dad's trying to hook up with another real
estate company, but business stinks everywhere. I feel guilty even going to
private school. Dad says that no matter what, beg, borrow, or steal, they won't
take me out of private school. Which I think is stupid. But what the hell do I
have to say?"
    It was an entirely unexpected litany, and she regretted
having put herself into the awkward position of having to listen to it. At that
moment she sensed the correctness of Larry's warning. Worse, she felt so
terrible for the boy, for whom this burden was so unfair. This, along with the
other.
    "Things have a way of getting better," she said
stupidly. When in doubt, try optimism, she assured herself. Besides, there was
absolutely nothing more than lip service that she could offer the boy.
    "You got a nice place here," Teddy said, looking
around. "What do you do?"
    "I guess you'd say I'm a housewife. I know it's kind
of an old-fashioned thing to do. But frankly I prefer it."
    "I mean what kind of work do you do?"
    "I just told you," she said. "I keep house
for my husband. I'm a homemaker."
    "Mom says you stay home a lot. I thought maybe you
were sick or something."
    "Before I got married I was an assistant in a doctor's
office." It annoyed her that she felt compelled to say
"assistant" rather than "nurse." She felt herself growing
impatient with the conversation, and as if to call it to a halt, she upended
her cup and swallowed the last bit of tea. But Teddy's curiosity seemed boundless.
    "Is your husband a lawyer?"
    "No." She hesitated for a moment, watching the
boy's face, hearing the echo of Larry's