inspector's role. It took effort and concentration. And, of course, she had to hide her own interest. Was it possible for Oliver to see in her an alternative? The question gnawed at her and filled her with guilt.
'You're awfully quiet,' Barbara remarked one day.
'I hadn't realized,' Ann responded.
'I suppose I can't really blame you. The way things have altered around here.'
It was her first real attempt at self-justification to Ann, who listened quietly, deliberately averting her eyes so they would not betray her. 'Who can possibly understand but another woman who has undergone the same experiences? You can never really transfer your outrage. The house, in my opinion, is fair compensation. He can have another one just like it in a few short years. Maybe sooner. I can never have it again unless I marry. Then the whole cycle starts again.'
Although she was working harder, she seemed more beautiful than ever, glowing, in fact; a quality totally incongruous, considering her "plight."
'I'm not competent to judge,' Ann replied, remembering the undeclared war of her own parents' married life. She had rarely seen even the most primitive gestures of respect between them. They seemed to survive on a diet of mutual hate. 'I'm not a good one to ask about married life. My background is very traditional,' she lied.
'I know. The husband pulls down a paycheck and the wife cooks, cleans, and fucks.' Ann had also detected that Barbara had gotten harder, more vocal and intransigent.
Between Oliver and Barbara communication was, in the early days of the new arrangement, nonexistent. Sometimes it was unavoidable, and Ann would hear scraps of conversation that always disintegrated into a rising crescendo of vituperation.
'I'll pay all electric and gas bills that can be attributed to normal household operations. Not to your business activities. Those you pay for.' He had confronted her in the kitchen late one evening. Ann, who was helping to baste a roasting goose while Barbara prepared a batch of baking dough, quickly faded from the scene, far enough to be out of their vision but close enough to hear.
'How can you calculate the difference?' Barbara asked sarcastically.
'I'm having a man come in from the electric and gas companies. If necessary, we'll put in separate meters.'
'What about the power from your workroom and the sauna?'
'I take no profit from that.'
'But I help pay for it.'
'Would you like to charge me for the use of my room as well? The cost of my electric blanket?' 'If I could, I would.'
'And I don't appreciate your fudging on the food bill. Thurmont agreed that you would keep those charges separate. There's no way the family can use six pounds of flour and three pounds of butter a week.'
'And what about the orange juice? I know you filched a carton of orange juice the other day. It could only have been you.' Barbara had asked the question so innocently of each of them, including the maid. Ann had wondered about the intense probing.
'I admit it. It was a damned mistake. I used it for screwdrivers. I ran out.'
'I've been meaning to tell you. Those juice cartons on the ledge are ugly.'
'It's my ledge.'
'And I don't see why you have to lock up the liquor cabinet and the wine vault.'
'What's Caesar's is Caesar's,' he said facetiously, the logic deteriorating.
'And what's God's, God's. You bastard.' 'I'm not kidding about the food, Barbara. I'm not counting the water.' 'The water?'
'Water costs,' he mumbled, but Ann could tell that his heart wasn't in the argument on that issue. 'All I'm asking for is a reasonable estimate.'
'You toss around that word "reasonable" as if it were from the beatitudes.'
'Now you're getting biblical. Are you going "born again"?'
'Yes, as a matter of fact. You forced it on me.'
'Well, you're not rid of me yet.'
The matter, as Ann soon discovered, was resolved by an injunction. Barbara had charged h arassment and violation of their maintenance agreement. Goldstein had gone to court
'You're awfully quiet,' Barbara remarked one day.
'I hadn't realized,' Ann responded.
'I suppose I can't really blame you. The way things have altered around here.'
It was her first real attempt at self-justification to Ann, who listened quietly, deliberately averting her eyes so they would not betray her. 'Who can possibly understand but another woman who has undergone the same experiences? You can never really transfer your outrage. The house, in my opinion, is fair compensation. He can have another one just like it in a few short years. Maybe sooner. I can never have it again unless I marry. Then the whole cycle starts again.'
Although she was working harder, she seemed more beautiful than ever, glowing, in fact; a quality totally incongruous, considering her "plight."
'I'm not competent to judge,' Ann replied, remembering the undeclared war of her own parents' married life. She had rarely seen even the most primitive gestures of respect between them. They seemed to survive on a diet of mutual hate. 'I'm not a good one to ask about married life. My background is very traditional,' she lied.
'I know. The husband pulls down a paycheck and the wife cooks, cleans, and fucks.' Ann had also detected that Barbara had gotten harder, more vocal and intransigent.
Between Oliver and Barbara communication was, in the early days of the new arrangement, nonexistent. Sometimes it was unavoidable, and Ann would hear scraps of conversation that always disintegrated into a rising crescendo of vituperation.
'I'll pay all electric and gas bills that can be attributed to normal household operations. Not to your business activities. Those you pay for.' He had confronted her in the kitchen late one evening. Ann, who was helping to baste a roasting goose while Barbara prepared a batch of baking dough, quickly faded from the scene, far enough to be out of their vision but close enough to hear.
'How can you calculate the difference?' Barbara asked sarcastically.
'I'm having a man come in from the electric and gas companies. If necessary, we'll put in separate meters.'
'What about the power from your workroom and the sauna?'
'I take no profit from that.'
'But I help pay for it.'
'Would you like to charge me for the use of my room as well? The cost of my electric blanket?' 'If I could, I would.'
'And I don't appreciate your fudging on the food bill. Thurmont agreed that you would keep those charges separate. There's no way the family can use six pounds of flour and three pounds of butter a week.'
'And what about the orange juice? I know you filched a carton of orange juice the other day. It could only have been you.' Barbara had asked the question so innocently of each of them, including the maid. Ann had wondered about the intense probing.
'I admit it. It was a damned mistake. I used it for screwdrivers. I ran out.'
'I've been meaning to tell you. Those juice cartons on the ledge are ugly.'
'It's my ledge.'
'And I don't see why you have to lock up the liquor cabinet and the wine vault.'
'What's Caesar's is Caesar's,' he said facetiously, the logic deteriorating.
'And what's God's, God's. You bastard.' 'I'm not kidding about the food, Barbara. I'm not counting the water.' 'The water?'
'Water costs,' he mumbled, but Ann could tell that his heart wasn't in the argument on that issue. 'All I'm asking for is a reasonable estimate.'
'You toss around that word "reasonable" as if it were from the beatitudes.'
'Now you're getting biblical. Are you going "born again"?'
'Yes, as a matter of fact. You forced it on me.'
'Well, you're not rid of me yet.'
The matter, as Ann soon discovered, was resolved by an injunction. Barbara had charged h arassment and violation of their maintenance agreement. Goldstein had gone to court
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