Big Cherry Holler - Adriana Trigiani [39]
“You know, men got to feel in charge. Even if they’re not. You got to let them think they are.”
“Iva Lou, I’m too old for those games.”
“Well, I hate to tell you, but the games go on until you’re in the grave. I never met a man who didn’t think he was the center of the universe.”
“Do you think Jack Mac is tired of me?”
“Nope. It sounds like he’s mad at you.”
“Good.”
“No. That’s actually worse. When men get mad, they don’t sit with it, they do something. They act out. You know. They go out looking for … I don’t know. Diversions.”
“Other women?”
Iva Lou nods. “And I know that for sure because once upon a time, I was the best diversion in Wise County. Now I’m just another old murried woman who’s kept her shape.” She sits up and breathes deeply, pinching in her small waist.
“Do I need to be worried about other women?” I lean back on the bench casually, yet my spine is so rigid, it’s as though there is a steel pipe in place of the bone.
“If you’re a woman, you always need to be worried about that. You got a good-looking husband. And there are women out there who look for, well, they’re looking for company.”
“I’m not going to follow him around.”
“You shouldn’t! No, you have to act like nothing’s wrong and gently move things back in a positive direction. You have to act like you have a good marriage, and then, as time goes on, if you act like it’s good, it becomes good.”
“How do you do that?” I want to know.
Iva Lou continues, “In little ways. Make him comfortable. Kiss him when you pass him while he’s watching TV. Even if he don’t kiss you back, mind you.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
“How’s the sex?”
“God, Iva Lou.”
“Are you having sex?”
“Sometimes.”
“Regular?”
“Not as regular as it used to be.”
“Well, girl, get on it. Make it your idea. That’ll keep you two connected until he comes around.”
“You’re serious?”
“Hell, yes. A man would rather saw off his arm as live without sex. We women, well, we’re camels. We can go months and months without, though I don’t recommend it. We like to think about sex, and sometimes thinkin’ about it’s enough. Why do you think women get married to men in prison and not vice versa? We’re fine just having a man sayin’ he loves us, even if he’s locked up with a life sentence. We don’t need him home in the flesh tellin’ us. A man is different; he needs a woman to be there, present, takin’ care of him.” Iva Lou looks at me, her left eyebrow rising up to make her point. “And I mean takin’ care of him.”
“Does everything come down to sex?”
“Yes.” Iva Lou sets her hero down on the bench. “A man looks at sex like a health issue. If it’s workin’, then he’s workin’. You got it?” I nod. “Drop by the church. They’re still fixin’ the Fellowship Hall kitchen, right? Surprise ole Jack Mac. Bring him a slice of pie or a thermos of coffee. And look good doin’ it. Be sweet. Understand?” I nod again, but part of me resents hearing this. Why do I have to do all the work?
A squirrel, his brown coat the color of the bare ground below, shimmies down the thick trunk of the poplar tree behind Iva Lou. He stops and chatters, snapping his neck, looking all around. Then the branches rustle from above, and down the trunk, like a gumball swirling down a chute, comes another squirrel. The first squirrel waits for the second to join him. When she gets within an inch of his tail, he runs away. This reminds me of something Otto told me so many years ago. He said, “Ave, you gots to decide three things in life: what you’re running from and what you’re running to, and why.” What Otto didn’t tell me and should have: no fair running in place.
Fleeta leans against the new fountain at Mutual’s. “Here I stand at the gates of hell.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t have to work in here.”
“We’ll see. This is just like when I was told I wouldn’t have to handle stock reorders. Now I’m the only one who handles stock reorders.”
“It came out nice, didn’t it?” I ask Fleeta as I spin on one of the fountain stools. Pearl