The Piano

In the living room, Penelope sits on the edge of their old couch, staring at the dusty upright. They have both just arrived home from work. Penelope has never played that piano.

“But you love me,” Roger says, standing. “You said those very words not three months ago when we remarried. Don’t you remember?” They are discussing having dinner out.

“Of course,” Penelope says, wondering at his choice of words. She stares at Roger smiling through the cigarette smoke, his bulk impressive in his salesman’s suit, the collar above the silk tie pinching the flesh of his neck, his black shoes polished to a meticulous shine. His fine dark head of hair—his pride, he always said—is slicked back with hair oil. He’s definitely looking like himself again. Not like when he was living in that ratty motel after their divorce.

Roger reaches down, touches her shoulder, stroking. “Then I think you should let me take you to dinner tonight. We’ll have a couple drinks, some dances at the piano bar, and come home and have some fun. It’ll be a happy night, just like old times.”

“We’ve been spending a lot of money,” Penelope says. Just like old times. She wonders if that was the original reason he left her. She was always nervous living beyond their means. Traci, the blonde divorcée he found at the singles’ bar— called the Boondocks of all things—certainly didn’t mind Roger spending all he had on her. But Penelope can see the approaching disappointment in Roger’s eyes. She knows the signals.

She smiles. “Fine then, let’s go out, just like old times.” She senses something different this evening. For just an instant, his love is not quite what it was yesterday.

Penelope is handsome, not beautiful, and classically dressed, not trendy. She favors sensible clothes that move from work to dinner to weddings without any fuss. Today’s outfit is a blouse and skirt of blue shades that offset her chestnut-brown hair and eyes. Occasionally she finds some gray in her hair. She pinches the bridge of her nose and goes to find a sweater.

At the Red Fox Room, they’re ushered into a leather booth close to the piano bar. It’s shadowy inside, walls of polished wood with no windows, like a remembered jazz club from their native Chicago: quiet music, low lighting, and murmuring couples.

They sit and talk about their day, scanning the room and the menu. Roger says a big sale was almost disrupted by complaints about the previous salesman. How it was only through his experience and personality that he made the sale—and the commission—anyway. Penelope gives her low opinion of the temporary girl who’s been hired at her office to do the filing. Paperwork has gone missing, sometimes filed under “The” instead of the actual name of the company.

When the waiter arrives they order Manhattans, rare filets, and baked potatoes. Then Roger asks the pianist to play his favorite—“Satin Doll” by Duke Ellington—and Penelope knows he’s going to ask her to dance.

As they dance, in between the lyrics of the song, Roger whispers how happy he is to finally feel back to normal, to feel he’s back on his game again. Roger likes sports metaphors.

Roger had lettered throughout high school. From Penelope’s viewpoint, he was unattainable, far outside her small social circle. Then Roger needed help with his homework; he spent too much time practicing and being the big man on campus and at the parties, not enough time on schoolwork.

Roger was used to getting his way. His father had died of a heart attack in his city maintenance truck when Roger was twelve. His newly single mother doted on him as if he might die also—anything for Roger. The city offered the widow a small pension, but she asked for the security of a job instead. She became a switchboard operator, a worried mother who was never home.

As Roger’s prowess in sports grew, he and his athlete friends spent more time at Roger’s parentless tenement than in school. Penelope’s brother, John, was a third-string sportsman, but got straight As.

Fiction Russell Doherty

Santa Barbara, California, USA

He soon became Roger’s good friend as Roger convinced him to help with his homework. Once Roger realized what a boon John was, he simply took the same classes as John, and his grades improved dramatically. When John suggested Roger start dating his sister. Penelope was also enlisted to help out with Roger’s homework. Roger decided he’d found his muse. They eloped a year out of high school when Penelope learned she was pregnant. Roger’s mother was livid. She’d lost her little boy.

Penelope’s thought is that things are not back to normal. They still have four children at home who all need clothes and food and schoolbooks and supervision. The mortgage has to be paid. And Penelope—who had always been a housewife—now goes to work every morning, just like Roger. She has no extra money. She’d had to get a job when Roger divorced her, and she’s not about to give it up because they remarried.

And Penelope isn’t one for late nights. Going out to dinner on this odd Wednesday seems extravagant to her. Even so, being in Roger’s arms, glowing and swaying, is far away from sitting in the living room late at night, crying all alone. She hopes she never has to go through that again.

Roger has always been the big, easy man, full of jokes and funny sayings. It’s what made him successful. “Make a friend, make a sale,” he would say. He’s good at selling, very convincing when he wants to be, pointing out the finer details of whatever product is on offer.

When his mother died and left him her tenement, Roger convinced Penelope California would be their new start, leaving the cold and snow of Chicago behind. The Golden West, he called it. Penelope had hoped Roger would also leave the other women behind. He did, but in California he also found new ones.

The pianist segues into “As Time Goes By” from Penelope’s favorite movie Casablanca. Penelope thinks of the plot—Rick graciously giving up Ilsa because she was married to the Czech resistance fighter Victor Laszlo. Rick did the right thing because he loved Ilsa.

“Is everything all right?” She tries to keep anxiety out of her voice.

“Of course,” Roger says. The waiter brings their drinks as they sit back down. “Everything’s fine. I was just talking with Willie this afternoon.”

Roger’s friend Willie is a vice president at the drone factory in San Diego where Roger used to work. Willie offered Roger a job three years ago, buying—instead of selling—a myriad of parts for the unmanned planes. He was one of the reasons Roger decided to move and put the traveling salesman's life behind him. He hoped changing jobs would change his habits.

Roger put most of the inherited money from the sale of his mother’s tenement into their new California tract house, the rest into fueling his rejuvenated lifestyle. He enjoyed two-hour cocktail lunches with Willie and his cronies, dinners out midweek, and a nice car to replace the company car he always drove as a salesman.

Roger remembered the good times when he and Willie lived on the same block back in Toledo, Ohio, for two years. It was early in the marriage, and they had four children. Roger, Jr. was only a year old then and loved crawling under the piano to Penelope’s music. Willie was Junior’s godfather, as well as Roger’s drinking buddy, a barbeque pal, a sounding board. And in San Diego, Willie has reprised his role.

Penelope remembers Toledo and Willie and the shock when they moved back to Chicago fifteen years ago, and her grand piano wasn’t on the mover’s truck.

“Where’s my piano?” Penelope had asked.Roger had looked at her and shrugged as he went outside. “I’ll ask the movers.”

Penelope had yelled at his back, “I didn’t see it in the truck. If anything happened to my piano, you’ll regret it. You never liked my playing, I know that. But it’s something that makes me feel good.”

She had paced, muttering, “You never liked classical music. Every damn thing has to be about you: your friends, your food, your music. Sure, jazz is okay, but it’s not everything. There has to be room for Beethoven in your life. It can’t all be about Count Basie.”

Roger had walked back into the living room. “The movers say there was no piano in the house when they loaded up the truck. What the hell could’ve happened? Could someone have stolen our grand piano? Who would do that?”

Roger had shrugged his shoulders at Penelope and turned his palms up. Penelope had said nothing and continued to glare. The two sweaty movers in sleeveless undershirts brought in the tan, corduroy couch with a stain on the armrest.

Penelope had pointed to an area under the windowsill of the front windows. She had pulled a lock of her hair and shoved it into her mouth the way she always did when she was frantically thinking.

Roger’s head had bobbed up and down. “I’ll call the Toledo office of the moving company. See what the hell is going on.”

“You never liked my playing.”

“You already said that, and it’s not true. I don’t like some of the composers you play.”

“You hate anything that’s not jazz.”

“That’s not true. I like swing music also.”

When Penelope realized Roger had sold the piano out from under her, she refused to let him touch her until he replaced the missing piano. After two months without sex, Roger gave in and bought her a cheap upright, not the grand piano she was used to. He’d said it was Willie’s idea to sell the piano in Toledo and save the moving fees. Penelope has never played that upright. And she’s never trusted Willie again.

Tonight, here in Red Fox’s, remarried after Roger’s affair with the divorced Traci had ended, Penelope wonders if Willie has inserted himself into their marriage again.

Penelope is back to being the muse, helping Roger with his expense reports, just like she did when he first became a salesman. She helps Roger fudge them so all of his expenses can be recouped. Roger sells packaging materials now, instead of buying drone parts. He lost the drone job because of the three-martini lunches. Selling packaging materials is not as lucrative. But he is very lucky to be living back in the house he still thinks of as his, bought with his inheritance.

“I’m happy to be helping out with the mortgage again,” Roger says.

“I was paying it off just fine with the alimony and child support, once I got my receptionist job.” Penelope doesn’t want to speak about how much monthly income she’s lost by remarrying Roger.

Penelope wonders if something is unspoken. Roger is edgy, behaving like the night he asked her to remarry him.

Roger had met Traci after Willie left his wife because she wasn’t fun anymore. It was during the time the two Toledo pals started running around to San Diego’s singles’ clubs. They both divorced at the same time. But being divorced fathers hadn’t worked out for either of them. The child support, the alimony, signing the house over to the ex-wife had tapped all of Roger’s resources—and Willie’s.

Willie had caved in first, going back to his wife, Rosemary, and getting remarried. Roger, alone, abandoned by Willie, hated living in that weekly motel rental—one room with a hot plate and bath. He despised being broke, never enough money for his favorite bars or restaurants. He needed to be around people. He just couldn’t afford it. Traci finally got tired of Roger complaining and being broke.

When Roger was let go from the drone factory, he went on unemployment. When he finally found the packaging sales job, he was nearly broke and didn’t tell the California unemployment office he was back working, figuring two paychecks were better than one. Then he got arrested for lying about being unemployed and had to pay back the money. It was the last straw. He laid out his options and decided remarrying Penelope was his only choice. He began his campaign.

Roger started wooing Penelope. She had trouble with it at first. But the children thought it was cute, especially when they started dating. And being alone was not something Penelope liked at all. Roger was the perfect salesman; he became Penelope’s friend. Being wanted again was almost like her first time. She wondered how they had gotten so out of practice with the kindnesses, kisses, and lovemaking that went with being pursued.

“I like being married,” Penelope now says.

“I just want us to be happy.” Roger wonders how to bring up the subject.

Roger had kept wining and dining Penelope, saying he’d made a mistake, he couldn’t live without her, and he wanted to be a full-time husband and father, just like they had originally planned. He bought flowers and champagne, dinners and theater tickets. Finally, one night when they’d had too much to drink and were laughing and dancing, Roger asked Penelope to remarry him. She couldn’t think of a reason not to, so she said yes.

It was a simple ceremony. Junior, finally an adult, got leave from the Army and performed as the best man. The officiant, Monsignor O’Keefe, with his red nose and whiskey breath, had whispered to Junior, asking if it was the drink that caused the divorce. Junior thought that it was but didn’t say so. Monsignor said he was happy all the same they got remarried. And since the Catholic Church didn’t recog-

nize divorce, the ceremony he was performing was technically just a renewal of their vows. The State of California didn’t need to know that bit of information.

“You just said you were happy. Do you have something you want to say?” Penelope touches Roger’s hand. Maybe he wants to take her on a second honeymoon.

Their food arrives, steam rising from the baked potato, grill marks on the steak. They smell delicious. Another musician shows up, a clarinet player, and unpacks his instrument. The conversation lags as their eating commences. The room noise fills in their silence.

Sweating, as if he had just run a footrace, Roger holds his Manhattan in his right hand. The palms of his hands are wet, as are his cheeks. The dim lights shine off his oiled hair. He says, “I think I’d feel more comfortable if the house was back in both our names.”

Penelope’s hand holding the fork stops halfway to her mouth. She now understands the reason for Roger’s nervous signals. She wonders if Willie put him up to it. All their married life Roger was in charge of the money, the house, the car. Penelope had to take a bus just to buy groceries because Roger was always out of town with their only car. She feels the encroaching walls again, where she isn’t really in charge.

The musical duo now starts up “Summertime” by George Gershwin. Penelope remembers Porgy trying to contain Bess and how well that didn’t work out.

She looks for a reason to say no, that she feels more comfortable, safer, if she stays in charge of the main possession in their lives. She’s already lost the alimony and the child support. That money now stays in Roger’s pocket. Penelope puts a bit of steak into her mouth. Chewing, she unconsciously takes a lock of her hair and bites on it also.

Roger says, “Rosemary put Willie back on their house title last week. ‘Let bygones be bygones,’ she said. They seem much happier.”

So it was Willie’s idea. Penelope hasn’t seen Willie and Rosemary since she remarried Roger. She was upset that they’d been invited to their wedding without her being consulted. Roger had said, “He’s my best friend; we can’t stop seeing them.”

Penelope had said, “Sometimes Willie doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”

Penelope now thinks what she has thought before: Roger has trouble following his own path. She had found a note once from Traci that Roger had left in his jacket pocket. Traci had put a little heart over the I in her name and mentioned the movie—Romeo and Juliet—that they were going to see that night with Willie and his then girlfriend, Maxine. Penelope had confronted Roger with it, shortly before their divorce. Roger had sworn it was just wishful thinking on Traci’s part. He wasn’t going to any movie with her. He’d said she was some friend of Maxine’s. He wasn’t convincing. They’d argued for days.

Roger says, “I don’t feel like myself, having friends over to a house that only belongs to one of us.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

Roger’s face registers his disappointment.

The next day, Thursday, Roger is his cheerful self again as he readies for work. He broaches a possible dinner on Saturday with Willie and Rosemary. Again, Penelope has to say she will think about it.

Roger says, “Let’s stay home tonight. We’ll send the kids to the movies, and it’ll just be the two of us.”

“I’d like that,” Penelope says. She thinks Roger must have some plan in mind.

Penelope makes spaghetti, just like she does every Thursday. They drink too many Manhattans. The children come home saying they loved the movie and could they go every Thursday? The children are put to bed.

Roger and Penelope make love quietly, not wanting the children to hear. Roger asks again if she’ll put him on the house. Penelope can’t think of a reason to say no. So, balancing anxiety against euphoria, she says yes.

Two years later, Penelope is looking out the living room window, wondering why she made that fateful decision. She wonders why she hasn’t divorced Roger a second time. She can’t bear the fact that Roger stopped touching her the week after she put him back on the title of the house—always saying he’s tired, sick, or too drunk. But she also can’t fathom trying to start over again with someone else—or dealing with the dark nights alone in the living room.

She thinks about the piano and how she forced him to replace it. She was proud of herself then for figuring out how to win. She hasn’t won very often in her marriage. She withheld herself until he did