"Montague, Art - Suburban Renewal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Montague Arthur)

He arrived home at six thirty. Ethel had not had a good day, so things were normal . The air-conditioning had given her a sniffle. Harv refrained from suggesting she may have had it turned too low. The noise of the air conditioner had given her a headache. He offered no suggestion for that either. Shutting it off did come to his mind, but this was officially summer. For Ethel, constant air conditioning was part of summer; he'd have been wasting his breath.

"Jane Coltrane was supposed to come over for coffee today," she said when the air conditioning ailments were dispensed. "I thawed date squares and brownies and she didn't show up. I left some on the counter for your dessert. I went to a lot of work for nothing and, God knows, with the state of my back, I shouldn't have even looked at the vacuum cleaner let alone vacuum the entire living room."

"It looks very nice," Harv offered. "Great job."

"Jane wouldn't have noticed anyway. She's a morning drinker and probably so blitzed by noon she wouldn't know a clean living room from a landfill. I don't know why I bother," said Ethel in her best long-suffering voice, fingernails on glass.

Dutifully Harv sat down at his place at the kitchen table, timed precisely to the ping of the microwave finishing off his dinner. Ethel from her chair reached over and took his plate from the machine.

"Smells good," said Harv.

"I'm busy, but I try," said Ethel. "I always get a meal on the table. On time too, no matter how ill I am."

"It sure looks good and I could eat a horse tonight," he said, trying to brighten Ethel's spirits. He looked at her place and asked "Aren't you eating?"

"No, my stomach's been so gassy today, the thought of food nauseates me."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I thought we could go out this evening, catch a movie or go to bingo."

Ethel flared, "That's a ridiculous idea. I've ben sick and slaving all day, stuck in this house with no company except Pepperpot, thank goodness for her being here, while you've been out since dawn doing whatever you like to do, and now when I'm exhausted in every fiber and aching in every bone you want to go and make a night of it somewhere. If you want to spend our money, put the pool in the yard with a nice patio where I can relax in the evening and get some fresh air. You always want to waste money. We can see the movies on cable which we already pay for and, as for bingo, you may as well throw the money to one of those rip-off charities and save yourself some time." Over the years, Harv had come to accept these extended tirades as her version of conversation. Sometimes he forgave them; sometimes he forgot them. They had their habits, did Harv and Ethel.

"We'll have the pool and patio for next summer, Ethel."

"I could be dead by then, so I hope you enjoy them," she replied.

"Our work schedule is nearly full for this summer. Even if we had the money now, I'm not sure we could get to the job."

"Sure, but I bet you'll find time for Peter Muir's project, won't you? After all, he's your valued employee and I'm just your poor stupid wife who sits penned up all day waiting your every command. You don't have to suck up to me."

"Peter's paying for the work, Ethel. It's not the same."

"A bargain rate, when you could be making more profit doing something else. You may as well hire out again as a concrete finisher for wages. Let someone else give the bargain rates."

Harv had been picking at his supper. He wasn't too sure just what it was, but he suspected it to be a pasta or potato salad that shouldn't have been nuked. At least if he wolfed it down, though, he wouldn't have to taste much.

When he put the plastic container in the trash he peeked at the empty package already there; sure enough, it had been a salad. Ethel had left him a brownie and half a date square from her afternoon dessert platter. He counted himself fortunate Jane had been a no-show.

Harv knew Jane's husband, Carl. They'd bowled one year on the same team. That was before Ethel's ailments increased and Harv had to quit bowling. As Harv recalled, Carl was in hardware. He was of the same generation as Harv and always seemed to be a nice guy. Harv remembered he'd grown up in Utica, not so far distant from North Tonawanda, Harv's home turf. Jane was a bit of a puzzle though; Carl had never struck him as much of a drinker.

"It's time for Pepperpot's walk," said Ethel. "Make sure you keep her in the shade tonight; the sun's still too hot for her."

"I will, don't worry." Every night after supper, Harv walked Pepperpot, a bichon frise, a ball of fluff with needle sharp teeth, that spent as much time at the vet's as Ethel at the walk-in medical clinic. Harv, of course, got to transport both of them.

He didn't mind the evening walks. They got him out of the house. He'd walk Pepperpot slowly up the block and around the corner, slowly because the dog's legs were only about four inches long, then he'd tuck the dog under his arm and step out fast several blocks to the McDonald's. Usually he'd get large fries and a couple Big Macs, though (depending on how heavily that night's supper offering was laying on his stomach) sometimes he'd get only one Big Mac. Harv had some notion that Big Macs contained enough chemicals to not only aid self-digestion of the Big Macs themselves but had enough left over to break down anything else he may have ingested. They were a lot more filling than a Tums too.

"-- Harv would never dare do that! He knows I'd have him in court so fast the ink wouldn't have time to dry on the writ." Ethel was on the phone when Harv came in with Pepperpot. She looked up and scowled -- not really a scowl, just her normal look. "Speak of the devil, Harv just got back with Pepperpot. I'll have to let you go, Nan. Let me tell you though, I totally sympathize and if I can help you out in any way, call me." With that she hung up and turned to Harv.

"Nan Jeffers has absolute proof Larry is seeing a waitress from Denny's over in the mall. Can there be anything more disgusting!" The Jeffers were neighbors at the end of the block. Larry managed the paint store at the Mall, part of a chain of paint stores that specialized in do-it-yourself decorating -- sponge painting, self-adhesive wallpaper, that sort of thing. Harv knew him well, even had breakfast with him periodically at Denny's. He wondered which waitress, not that it mattered.