1The rocket-launching sites at Remsen Park were fifteen miles to the south and this presented a morale problem for there were hundreds or thousands of technicians like Coverly who knew nothing about the beginnings or the ends of their works. The administration met this problem by having public rocket launchings on Saturday afternoons. Transportation was furnished so that whole families could pack their sandwiches and beer and sit in bleachers to hear the noise of doom crack and see a fire that seemed to lick at the vitals of the earth. These firings were not so different from any other kind of picnic, although there were no softball games or band concerts; but there was beer to drink and children strayed and were lost and the jokes the crowd made while they waited for an explosion that was calculated to pierce the earth’s atmosphere were very human. Betsey loved all of this, but it hardly modified her feeling that Remsen Park was unfriendly. Friends were important to her and she said so. “I just come from a small town in Georgia,” she said, “and it was a very friendly place and I just believe in stepping up and making friends. After all, we only pass this way once.” As often as she made the remark about passage, it had not lost its strength. She was born; she would die.

2Her overtures to Mrs. Frascati continued to be met with sullen smiles and she invited the woman in the next house—Mrs. Galen—in for a cup of coffee, but Mrs. Galen had several college degrees and an air of elegance and privilege that made Betsey uneasy. She felt that she was being scrutinized and scrutinized uncharitably and saw there was no room for friendship here. She was persistent and finally she hit on it. “I met the liveliest, nicest, friendliest woman today, honey,” she told Coverly when she kissed him at the door. “Her name’s Josephine Tellerman and she lives on M Circle. Her husband’s in the drafting room and she says she’s lived on nearly every rocket-launching reservation in the United States and she’s just full of fun and her husband’s nice too and she comes from a nice family and she asked us why didn’t we come over some night and have a drink.”

3Betsey loved her neighbor. This simple act of friendship brought her all the delights and hazards of love. Coverly knew how dim and senseless Circle K had seemed to her until the moment when she met Josephine Tellerman. Now he was prepared to hear about Mrs. Tellerman for weeks and months. He was glad. Betsey and Mrs. Tellerman would do their shopping together. Betsey and Mrs. Tellerman would be on the telephone every morning. “My friend Josephine Tellerman tells me that you have some very nice lamb chops,” she would tell them at the butcher. “My friend Josephine Tellerman recommended you to me,” she would tell them at the laundry. Even the vacuum-cleaner salesman, ringing her doorbell at the end of a hard day, would find her changed. She would be friendly enough, but she would not open the door. “Oh, hello,” she would say. “I’d like to talk with you but I’m very sorry I don’t have the time this afternoon. I’m expecting a telephone call from my friend Josephine Tellerman.”

4The Wapshots went over to the Tellermans’ for a drink one night and Coverly found them friendly enough. The Tellermans’ house was furnished exactly like the Wapshots’, including the Picasso over the mantelpiece. In the living room the women talked about curtains, and Coverly and Max Tellerman talked about cars in the kitchen while Max made the drinks. “I’ve been looking at cars,” Max said, “but I decided I wouldn’t buy one this year. I have to cut down. And I don’t really need a car. You see I’m sending my kid brother through college. My folks have split up and I feel pretty responsible for this kid. I’m all he’s got. I worked my way through college—Jesus, I did everything—and I don’t want him to go through that rat race. I want him to take it easy for four years. I want him to have everything he needs. I want him to feel that he’s as good as the next fellow for a few years. …” They went back into the living room, where the women were still talking about curtains. Max showed Coverly some photographs of his brother and went on talking about him and at half-past ten they said good night and walked home.

5Betsey was no gardener but she bought some canvas chairs for the back yard and some wooden lattice to conceal the garbage pail. They could sit there on summer nights. She was pleased with what she had done and one summer night the Tellermans came over to christen—as Betsey said—the back yard with rum. It was a warm night and most of their neighbors were in their yards. Josie and Betsey were talking about bedbugs, cockroaches and mice. Coverly was speaking affectionately of West Farm and the fishing there. He wasn’t drinking himself and he disliked the smell of rum that came from the others, who were drinking a lot. “Drink, drink,” Josie said. “It’s that kind of a night.”

6It was that kind of a night. The air was hot and fragrant and from the kitchen, where he mixed the drinks, Coverly looked out of the window into the Frascatis’ back yard. There he saw the young Frascati girl in a white bathing suit that accentuated every line of her body but the crease in her buttocks. Her brother was spraying her gently with a garden hose. There was no horseplay, there were no outcries, there was no sound at all while the young man dutifully sprayed his beautiful sister. When Coverly had mixed the drinks he carried them out. Josie had begun to talk about her mother. “Oh, I wish you people could have met my mother,” she said. “I wish you kids could have met my mother.” When Betsey asked Coverly to fill the glasses once more he said they were out of rum. “Run down to the shopping center and get a bottle, honey,” Josie said. “It’s that kind of a night. We only live once.”

7“We only pass this way once,” Betsey said.

8“I’ll get some,” Coverly said.

9“Let me, let me,” Max said. “Betsey and I’ll go.” He pulled Betsey out of her chair and they walked together toward the shopping center. Betsey felt wonderful. It’s that kind of a night, was all she could think to say, but the fragrant gloom and the crowded houses where the lights were beginning to go out and the noise of sprinklers and the snatches of music all made her feel that the pain of traveling and moving and strangeness and wandering was ended and that it had taught her the value of permanence and friendship and love.

10Everything delighted her then—the moon in the sky and the neon lights of the shopping center—and when Max came out of the liquor store she thought what a distinguished, what an athletic and handsome man he was. Walking home he gave Betsey a long, sad look, put his arms around her and kissed her. It was a stolen kiss, Betsey thought, and it was that kind of a night, it was the kind of a night where you could steal a kiss. When they got back to Circle K, Coverly and Josie were in the living room. Josie was still talking about her mother. “Never an unkind word, never a harsh look,” she was saying. “She used to be quite a pianist. Oh, there was always a big gang at our house. On Sunday nights we all used to gather around the piano and sing hymns you know and have a wonderful time.” Betsey and Max went to the kitchen to make drinks. “She was unhappy in her marriage,” Josie was saying. “He was a real sonofabitch, there’s no two ways about it, but she was philosophical, that was the secret of her success; she was philosophical about him and just from hearing her talk you’d think she was the happiest married woman in the world but he was …” “Coverly,” Betsey screamed. “Coverly, help.”

11Coverly ran down the hall. Max was standing by the stove. He had torn Betsey’s dress. Coverly swung at him, got him on the side of the jaw and set him down on the floor. Betsey screamed and ran into the living room. Coverly stood over Max, cracking his knuckles. There were tears in his eyes. “Hit me again if you want to, kick me if you want to,” Max said. “I couldn’t punch a hole in a paper bag. That was a lousy thing for me to do, you know, but I just can’t help myself sometimes and I’m glad it’s over and I swear to God I’ll never do it again, but Jesus Christ Coverly sometimes I get so lonely I don’t know where to turn and if it wasn’t for this kid brother of mine that I’m sending through college I think I’d cut my throat, so help me God, I’ve thought of it often enough. You wouldn’t think, just looking at me, that I was suicidal, would you, but so help me God I am an awful lot of the time.

12“Josie’s all right. She’s a darned good sport,” Max said, still speaking from the floor, “and she’ll stay with me through thick and thin and I know that, but she’s very insecure, you know, oh she’s very insecure and I think it’s because she’s lived in so many different places. She gets melancholy, you know, and then she takes it out on me. She says I take advantage of her. She says I don’t bring in the money for the food. I don’t bring in the money for the car. She needs new dresses and she needs new hats and I don’t know what she doesn’t need new and then she gets real sore and goes off on a buying spree and sometimes it’s six months or a year before I can pay the bills. I still owe bills all over the whole United States. Sometimes I don’t think I can stand it any more. Sometimes I think I’m just going to pack my bag and take to the road. That’s what I think, I think I’m entitled to a little fun, a little happiness, you know, and so I take a pass here and a pass there but I’m sorry about Betsey because you and Betsey have been real good friends to us but sometimes I don’t think I can go on unless I have a little fun. I just don’t think I have the strength to go on. I just don’t think I can stand it any more.”

13In the living room Josie had taken Betsey into her arms. “There, there, honey,” Josie was saying, “there, there, there. It’s all over. Nothing happened. I’ll fix your dress. I’ll get you a new dress. He just had too much to drink, that’s all. He’s got the wandering hands. He’s got the wandering hands and he just had too much to drink. Those hands of his, he’s always putting them someplace where they don’t belong. Honey, this isn’t the first time. Even when he’s asleep those hands of his are feeling around all the time until they get hold of something. Even when he’s asleep, honey. There, there, don’t you worry about it any more. Think of me, think of what I have to put up with. Thank God you’ve got a nice, clean husband like Coverly. Think of poor me, think of poor Josie trying to be cheerful all the time and going around picking up after him. Oh, I’m so tired of it. I’m so tired of trying to make his mistakes good. And if we get a couple of dollars ahead he sends it to this kid brother in Cornell. He’s in love with this kid brother, he loves him more than he loves me or you or anybody. He spoils him. It makes my blood boil. He’s living up there like a regular prince in a dormitory with his own bathroom and fancy clothes while I’m mending and sewing and scrubbing to save the price of a cleaning woman so that he can send this college boy an allowance or a new sports jacket or a tennis racket or something. Last year he was worried because the kid didn’t have an extra-special heavy overcoat and I said to him, I said, Max, I said, now look here. You’re worrying yourself sick because he doesn’t have a winter coat, but what about me? Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t have a good winter coat? Did it ever cross your mind that your loving wife is just as entitled to a coat as your kid brother? Did you ever look at it that way? And you know what he said? He said it was cooler up where this college is than it was in Montana where we was living. It didn’t make any impression on him at all. Oh, it’s terrible to be married to a man who’s got something on his mind like that all the time. Sometimes it just makes my blood boil, seeing how he spoils him. But we have to take the lean with the fat, don’t we? Into every real friendship a little rain must fall. Let’s pretend it was that, honey, shall we, let’s pretend it was just a little rain. Let’s go and get the men and drink a friendship cup and let bygones be bygones. Let’s pretend it was just a little rain.”

14In the kitchen they found Max still sitting on the floor and Coverly standing by the sink, cracking his knuckles, but Betsey went to Coverly and pleaded with him in a whisper to forget it. “We’re all going to be friends again,” Josie said loudly. “Come on, come on, it’s all forgotten. We’re all going into the living room and drink a friendship cup and anyone who won’t drink out of the friendship cup is a rotten egg.” Max followed her into the living room and Betsey led Coverly behind. Josie filled a large glass with rum and Coke. “Here’s for auld lang syne,” she said. “Let bygones be bygones. Here’s to friendship.” Betsey began to cry and they all drank from the glass. “Well, I guess we are friends again, aren’t we,” Betsey said, “and I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you just to prove it, I’ll tell you something I had in the back of my mind and that’s even more important to me after this. Saturday is my birthday and I want you and Max to come over for dinner and make it a real celebration with champagne and tuxedos—a regular party and I think it’s all the more important now that we’ve had this little trouble.”

15“Oh, sweetheart, that’s the nicest invitation anyone’s ever given me,” Josie said, and she got up and kissed Betsey and then Coverly and linked her arm in Max’s. Max held his hand out to Coverly and Betsey kissed Josie again and they said good night—softly, softly for it was late then, it was after two o’clock and theirs were the only lights burning in the circle.

16Josie didn’t call Betsey in the morning and when Betsey tried to call her friend either the line was busy or no one answered, but Betsey was too absorbed in the preparations for the party to care much. She bought a new dress and some glasses and napkins and on the night before the party she and Coverly ate supper in the kitchen in order to keep the dining space clean. Coverly had to work on Saturday and he didn’t get home until after five. Everything was ready for the party. Betsey had not put on her new dress yet and was still wearing her bathrobe with her hair in pins but she was excited and happy and when she kissed Coverly she told him to hurry and take his bath. The table was set with one of the cloths, the old candlesticks and the blue china from West Farm. There were dishes of nuts and other things to eat with cocktails on all the tables. Betsey had laid out Coverly’s clothes and he took a shower and was dressing when the telephone rang. “Yes, dear,” Coverly heard Betsey say. “Yes, Josie. Oh. Oh, then you mean you can’t come. I see. Yes, I see. Well, what about tomorrow night? Why don’t we put it off until tomorrow night? I see, oh I see. Well, why don’t you come tonight for just a little while? We can bundle Max up in blankets and you could leave right after dinner if you wanted. I see. I see. Yes, I see. Well, good-by. Yes, good by.”

17Betsey was sitting on the sofa when Coverly came back to the living room. Her hands were in her lap, her face was haggard and wet with tears. “They can’t come,” she said. “Max is sick and has a cold and they can’t come.” Then a loud sob broke from her but when Coverly sat down and put an arm around her she resisted him. “For two days I haven’t done anything but work and think about my party,” she cried. “I haven’t done anything else for two days. I wanted to have a party. I just wanted to have a nice little party. That’s all I wanted.”

18Coverly kept telling her that it didn’t matter and gave her a glass of sherry and then she decided to call the Frascatis. “All I want now is to have a little party,” she said, “and I have all this food and maybe the Frascatis would like to come. They haven’t been very neighborly but maybe that’s because they’re foreigners. I’m going to ask the Frascatis.”

19“Why don’t we forget the whole thing?” Coverly said. “We can eat our supper or take in a movie or something. We can have a good time together.”

20“I’m going to ask the Frascatis,” Betsey said, and she went to the telephone. “This is Betsey Wapshot,” she said cheerfully, “and I’ve meant to call you again and again but I’ve been a bad neighbor, I’m afraid. We’ve been so busy since we’ve moved in that I haven’t had the time and I’m ashamed of myself for having been such a bad neighbor but I just wondered if you and your husband wouldn’t like to come over tonight and have supper with us.”

21“Thank you but we already had supper,” Mrs. Frascatti said. She hung up.

22Then Coverly heard Betsey calling the Galens. “This is Betsey Wapshot,” she said, “and I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner because I’ve wanted to know you better but I wondered if you and your husband would like to come over tonight for supper.”

23“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” Mrs. Galen said, “but the Tellermans—I think they’re friends of yours—Max Tellerman’s young brother has just come home from college and they’re bringing him over to see us.”

24Betsey hung up. “Hypocrite,” she sobbed. “Hypocrite. Oh she’d break her back, wouldn’t she to get in good with the Galens and she just wouldn’t tell me, her best friend, she just wouldn’t have the nerve to tell me the truth.”

25“There, there, sugar,” Coverly said. “It isn’t that important. It doesn’t matter.”

26“It matters to me,” Betsey cried. “It’s a matter of life and death to me, that’s what it is. I’m going over there and see, I’m just going over there and see if that Mrs. Galen’s telling me the truth. I’m just going over there and see if that Max Tellerman’s sick in bed or if he isn’t. I’m just going over there and see.”

27“Don’t, Betsey,” Coverly said. “Don’t, honey.”

28“I’m just going over there and see, that’s what I’m going to do. Oh I’ve heard enough about this brother of his but when it comes time to introduce him around their old friends aren’t good enough. I’m going over and see.” She stood—Coverly tried to stop her, but she went out the door. In her bathrobe and slippers she marched, bellicosely, up the street to the next circle. The Tellermans’ windows were lighted, but when she rang the bell no one answered and there was no sound. She went around to the back of the house where the curtains on the picture window hadn’t been drawn and looked into their living room. It was empty but there were some cocktail glasses on the table and by the door was a yellow leather suitcase with a Cornell sticker on it. And as she stood there in the dark it seemed that the furies attacked Betsey; that through every incident—every moment of her life—ran the cutting thread, the wire of loneliness, and that when she thought she had been happy she had only deceived herself for under all her happiness lay the pain of loneliness and all her travels and friends were nothing and everything was nothing.

29She walked home and later that night she had a miscarriage.