Disclosure

"I don’t know," he said.

"Because he had no love in his heart," she said.

"Live, it’s time for sleep."

"Give me a dream first, Dad."

"Okay. There’s a beautiful silver cloud hanging over your bed, and-"

"That dream’s no good, Dad." She was frowning at him.

"Okay. What kind of dream do you want?"

"With Kermit."

"Okay. Kermit is sitting right here by your head, and he is going to watch over you all night."

"And you, too."

"Yes. And me, too." He kissed her forehead, and she rolled away to face the wall. As he left the room he could hear her sucking her thumb loudly.

He went back to the bedroom and pushed aside his wife’s legal briefs to get into bed.

"Was she still awake?" Susan asked.

"I think she’ll go to sleep. She wanted a dream. About Kermit."

His wife nodded. "Kermit is a very big deal now."

She didn’t comment on his T-shirt. He slipped under the covers and felt suddenly exhausted. He lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes. He felt Susan picking up the briefs on the bed, and a moment later she turned off the light.

"Mum," she said. "You smell good."

She snuggled up against him, pressing her face against his neck, and threw her leg over his side. This was her invariable overture, and it always annoyed him. He felt pinned down by her heavy leg.

She stroked his cheek. "Is that after-shave for me?"

"Oh, Susan . . ." He sighed, exaggerating his fatigue.

"Because it works," she said, giggling. Beneath the covers, she put her hand on his chest. He felt it slide down, and slip under the T-shirt.

He had a burst of sudden anger. What was the matter with her? She never had any sense about these things. She was always coming on to him at inappropriate times and places. He reached down and grabbed her hand.

"Something wrong?"

"I’m really tired, Sue."

She stopped. "Bad day, huh?" she said sympathetically.

"Yeah. Pretty bad."

She got up on one elbow, and leaned over him. She stroked his lower lip with one finger. "You don’t want me to cheer you up?"

"I really don’t."

"Not even a little?"

He sighed again.

"You sure?" she asked, teasingly. "Really, really sure?" And then she started to slide beneath the covers.

He reached down and held her head with both hands. "Susan. Please. Come on."

She giggled. "It’s only eight-thirty. You can’t be that tired."

"I am."

"I bet you’re not."

"Susan, damn it. I’m not in the mood."

"Okay, okay." She pulled away from him. "But I don’t know why you put on the after-shave, if you’re not interested."

"For Christ’s sake."

"We hardly ever have sex anymore, as it is."

"That’s because you’re always traveling." It just slipped out.

"I’m not `always traveling.’ "

"You’re gone a couple of nights a week."

"That’s not `always traveling.’ And besides, it’s my job. I thought you were going to be more supportive of my job."

"I am supportive."

"Complaining is not supportive."

"Look, for Christ’s sake," he said, "I come home early whenever you’re out of town, I feed the kids, I take care of things so you don’t have to worry-"

"Sometimes," she said. "And sometimes you stay late at the office, and the kids are with Consuela until all hours"

"Well, I have a job, too-"

"So don’t give me this `take care of things’ crap," she said. "You’re not home anywhere near as much as I am, I’m the one who has two jobs, and mostly you do exactly what you want, just like every other fucking man in the world."

"Susan . . ."

`Jesus, you come home early once in a while, and you act like a fucking martyr." She sat up, and turned on her bedside light. "Every woman I know works harder than any man."

"Susan, I don’t want to fight."

"Sure, make it my fault. I’m the one with the problem. Fucking men."

He was tired, but he felt suddenly energized by anger. He felt suddenly strong, and got out of bed and started pacing. "What does being a man have to do with it? Am I going to hear how oppressed you are again now?"

"Listen," she said, sitting straighter. "Women are oppressed. It’s a fact."

"Is it? How are you oppressed? You never wash a load of clothes. You never cook a meal. You never sweep a floor. Somebody does all that for you. You have somebody to do everything for you. You have somebody to take the kids to school and somebody to pick them up. You’re a partner in a law firm, for Christ’s sake. You’re about as oppressed as Leona Helmsley."

She was staring at him in astonishment. He knew why: Susan had made her oppression speech many times before, and he had never contradicted her. Over time, with repetition it had become an accepted idea in their marriage. Now he was disagreeing. He was changing the rules.

"I can’t believe you. I thought you were different." She squinted at him, her judicious look. "This is because a woman got your job, isn’t it."

"What’re we going to now, the fragile male ego?"

"It’s true, isn’t it? You’re threatened."

"No it’s not. It’s crap. Who’s got the fragile ego around here? Your ego’s so fucking fragile, you can’t even take a rejection in bed without picking a fight."

That stopped her. He saw it instantly: she had no comeback. She sat there frowning at him, her face tight.