“I just want a glass of it. I’m tired too, Malcolm. I’m worn out.” And suddenly I was worn out. I had been full of gaiety when I left the store. The excitement of being with Charles William had continued into the afternoon and I had sold three dresses to a pretty woman my mother’s age to wear to chaperon a fraternity party in the mountains. Now I was just a married lady arguing at the grocery store with her husband. The salesgirl totaled up our purchases and I wrote a check and then we left and got into the car and drove to our apartment. A skillet from three days before was in the sink. Plates and glasses and silverware from breakfast were piled on top of that. The ashtrays were full of cigarettes. The bed was unmade. Several tubes of contraceptive jelly were lying on the floor. “This place is a goddamn mess,” Malcolm said.

“Well, help me clean it up.” I opened the bottle of sherry and poured some into a glass. I tied an apron around my waist and began to move things gingerly from the sink to the counter. I was still wearing a wool skirt and sweater I had worn to work that day and I was trying not to get them dirty. Another thing Malcolm and I had started arguing about was the cleaning bill. We both threw everything we wore down on the floor and once a week we picked it all up and took it to the cleaners.

I drank the sherry. Then I began to try to clean the skillet. Three minutes went by. It was six o’clock. “Have you started dinner?” Malcolm asked. “Stop doing that and get the food in the oven.”

“Do what?” I turned around and dropped the skillet on the plates in the sink. “What did you say to me?”

“I said I’m starving to death. Get the chicken in the oven before you start on those dishes.” I reached behind me and untied the apron. I walked out of the kitchen. I could see the car keys lying on the coffee table. “You know how to do the chicken better than I do. Fix it and put it in the oven and I’ll do the rest. I want to go upstairs and take off these clothes. The salesladies said I’d ruin my feet if I wore shoes this high all the time.” I started up the small narrow stairwell that led to the bedroom. I can escape from anywhere, I told myself. I am Dudley Manning’s daughter. No one can make me do anything. No one can conquer me. No one can keep me from getting into my own car and going to see my friends.

“Okay,” Malcolm called from the kitchen. “I’ll put it in and then I have to study while you do the rest.”