When Jane Lovejoy’s husband phoned to tell her the news that he had been passed over for the promotion he had been hoping for, and denied the raise he expected, she knew that she would have to do something special to raise his spirits, and she knew that she would have to do the heavy lifting.
In many ways Richard was more fragile and temperamental than their four year old son, and he would need something special to soothe his bruised ego, Jane thought that a trip to Lake Street and an evening of debauchery was just the sort of thing he would need to keep himself calm…though she would enjoy it too, more importantly it would keep him distracted and keep him from turning his resentment and anger against her, or their son.
She sent the boy to her mother’s house in Linden Hills, and had the servants prepare a platter of food they could eat at room temperature, including a roast beef and a chicken that would keep well for hours in the ice box.
After her maid helped her with her hair and dress Jane sent all the servants home, then she poured herself a martini about a half an hour before Richard came home.
It was raining hard by the time he came through the door, but her timing was perfect. He had parked under the port cochere so he was barely damp. She greeted him in the parlor with a lit cigarette in one hand and a Manhattan made just the way he liked it in the other.
Richard came through the door with his shoulders sagging and the air of defeat about him. His face was set in a mean-grimace, but when he saw his wife standing in the light of the Tiffany chandelier, slender and blonde, with her make-up done in her signature sultry-style, his mood began to change.
He only paused for a second, as his sense of failure magnified for the span of a heartbeat before he let it go so that he could extend his imagination to the expectation of what the rest of the night promised.
He understood that his wife was going to spend her money pampering him once again, not to celebrate his success, but to compensate him for his poor performance at the Lumber Exchange.
The sting of shame melted away when he saw the hem of her stockings and garter belt below the fringe of her too-short, emerald-green dress.
She walked toward him with her pale thighs barely rubbing together, handed him the drink and the lit cigarette, and then kissed him lightly on the lips brushing them languidly with the tip of her tongue as he moaned with delight.
The house was quiet. He knew they were alone, and soon they would be headed to the strip, his wife would dope him up and let him smother his woes between the breasts of some immigrant girl, then she would call his boss in the morning and tell him that he was too sick to come in.