The Collected Stories by Grace Paley Read Free Book Online

Judy’s toys. He had no trouble with them at all. He whistled while he worked.
    Then he swept the debris into a corner of the kitchen. He put a pot of coffee on the stove. “Coffee?” he called. “In a minute,” Anna said. He stabilized the swinging kitchen door and came upon Anna, winding a clock in the living room whose wide windows on the world he had personally draped. “Busy, busy,” he said.
    Like a good and happy man increasing his virtue, he kissed her. She did not move away from him. She remained in the embrace of his right arm, her face nuzzling his shoulder, her eyes closed. He tipped her chin to look and measure opportunity. She could not open her eyes. Honorably he searched, but on her face he met no quarrel.
    She was faint and leaden, a sure sign in Anna, if he remembered correctly, of passion. “Shall we dance?” he asked softly, a family joke. With great care, a patient lover, he undid the sixteen tiny buttons of her pretty dress and in Judy’s room on Judy’s bed he took her at once without a word. Afterward, having established tenancy, he rewarded her with kisses. But he dressed quickly because he was obligated by the stories of his life to remind her of transience.
    â€œPetey,” Anna said, having drawn sheets and blankets to her chin. “Go on into the kitchen. I think the coffee’s all boiled out.”
    He started a new pot. Then he returned to help her with the innumerable little cloth buttons. “Say, Anna, this dress is wild. It must’ve cost a dime.”
    â€œA quarter,” she said.
    â€œYou know, we could have some pretty good times together every now and then if you weren’t so damn resentful.”
    â€œDid you have a real good time, Petey?”
    â€œOh, the best,” he said, kissing her lightly. “You know, I like the way your hair is now,” he said.
    â€œI have it done once a week.”
    â€œHey, say it pays, baby. It does wonders. What’s up, what’s up? That’s what I want to know. Where’d the classy TV come from? And that fabulous desk … Say, somebody’s an operator.”
    â€œMy husband is,” said Anna.
    Petey sat absolutely still, but frowned, marking his clear forehead with vertical lines of pain. Consuming the black fact, gritting his teeth to retain it, he said, “My God, Anna! That was a terrible thing to do.”
    â€œI thought it was so great.”
    â€œOh, Anna, that’s not the point. You should have said something first. Where is he? Where is this stupid sonofabitch while his wife is getting laid?”
    â€œHe’s in Rochester. That’s where I met him. He’s a lovely person. He’s moving his business. It takes time. Peter, please. He’ll be here in a couple of days.”
    â€œYou’re great, Anna. Man, you’re great. You wiggle your ass. You make a donkey out of me and him both. You could’ve said no. No—excuse me. Petey—no. I’m not that hard up. Why’d you do it? Revenge? Meanness? Why?”
    He buttoned his jacket and moved among the cardboard boxes and the new chairs, looking for a newspaper or a package. He hadn’t brought a thing. He stopped before the hallway mirror to brush his hair. “That’s it!” he said, and walked slowly to the door.
    â€œWhere are you going, Peter?” Anna called across the foyer, a place for noisy children and forgotten umbrellas. “Wait a minute, Peter. Honest to God, listen to me, I did it for love.”
    He stopped to look at her. He looked at her coldly.
    Anna was crying. “I really mean it, Peter, I did it for love.”
    â€œLove?” he asked. “Really?” He smiled. He was embarrassed but happy. “Well!” he said. With the fingers of both hands he tossed her a kiss.
    â€œOh, Anna, then good night,” he said. “You’re a good kid. Honest, I wish you the best, the best of everything, the