GLORIA
“If you’re tired, we can go to sleep,” Gloria said. It was their wedding night, a year after their first date. It had been a long day—throwing a bouquet and dancing and cutting the cake and standing up in front of all those people, Jacky knew so many people and it seemed like he’d invited everyone he could, something her father wasn’t very happy about because he was footing the bill. It was finally over, and they were technically on their honeymoon, although they weren’t leaving Denver at all, just staying at the Brown Palace Hotel for a few nights, in the Roosevelt Suite, which had sounded awful fuddy-duddy to Gloria but had turned out lovely. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. Unless you want to.”
“What do you mean?” Jacky was watching her from the foot of the bed, his bowtie flapping loose around his neck. He’d spent the entire wedding in a state of hyperactivity, he’d danced and talked and laughed more than she’d thought anyone was capable of, but now that they were alone he was quiet, looking at her in a way she didn’t quite understand. For a moment she thought it was fear, but that seemed silly, because why would he be afraid of her?
Oh, she was afraid. Yes, she was. She was twenty years old and still a virgin, had never gotten to second base, even with Jacky, who didn’t seem to have all that much interest in petting. He’d kiss her when they went to the movies, but he’d pull away when things got too heavy, and he’d hold the popcorn on his lap, looking embarrassed.
She gestured, lamely, tugging at the hem of her wedding dress. She’d heard about doing it from girls at school, but it’s not as if hearing about it was the same as the actual act.
“I don’t know,” Jacky said. He looked at her, then at the door, and for a minute she thought he was going to run. She’d never seen him nervous before, even when her father had promoted him from dishwasher to head cook, with more promises of management. Owner, her father had said. He’ll be running it all in no time.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Should I turn out the light?”
“I don’t know. Yeah, I guess.”
He came to bed once the lights were out, came to her, his skin smooth and cold under her fingers. He was trembling, and finished fast, his breath hot in the cup of skin between her neck and shoulder.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
“Know what?”
“Nothing. Nothing.”
*
Jacky will only have butter in the restaurant, and at home. Real butter, not margarine or oleo, not even the good stuff no one can tell isn’t butter. She tried to fool him once, to replace the stuff in their butter dish with margarine, thinking that he’d never know the difference and she could save money on groceries, but somehow he knew, he knew even though she’d thrown the evidence away. And not even in their own trash but in one of the bins outside the grocery store. She’d leaned way over the side of the can, shoved the empty box way down deep, covering it over with greasy bags of fast food and crumpled newspapers, looking over her shoulder as she did it, as if Jacky might be standing right behind her in the parking lot, watching her, knowing exactly what she was up to. She covered her tracks, did everything perfectly, but somehow Jacky still knew, and he’d thrown the nice crystal butter dish they’d gotten as a wedding gift at a wall and screamed at her for lying, for trying to trick him, and flecks of spit had gathered at the corners of his mouth.
He’d picked up all sorts of quirks like that after the wedding, mostly about things at the restaurant. Her father, who handed the keys and the deed over three months after they were married, says it’s good. That it shows Jacky’s a discerning man. He’s got what it takes to make the restaurant run properly. And even though it hasn’t been that long since he took over, Jacky’s already talking about expanding, taking out a loan and opening up a second location, in a newish building where there used to be a barbershop, and a bar.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asks, but Jacky doesn’t answer. He doesn’t pay much attention to her these days, and she understands, he’s busy at work, making a living to support her. He needs space, she thinks. But the only time he really seems to see her is when he wants it, fast and hard, and then he lets her keep the TV on while he takes care of his business, and she’s glad for that, because she still doesn’t understand the appeal of it, even though the women on her soaps love to taunt men with it, and it’s all the men seem to care about.