Four heterosexuals decided to carve a roast. They were Peg and her husband Pat and Fawn and Fawn’s husband Dick. The husbands had formed an alliance at the office, you see, and alliances called for beef chuck and wives to roast it.
Fawn and Dick built the first and only house in a new development. It sprung right out of the dirt and the yard was full of nails. Few families wanted to live this close to the dam, but the developers had already cleared the whole cliff and poured the sidewalks. In the water below there lived islands of obscene white birds that screamed and attacked each other when the spillways opened. That was the main thing about the dam. Because of the noise, the lots had sat empty for some time. Perhaps if Fawn and Dick had built a more attractive house, it would have attracted others. But theirs was long and flat, an unleavened loaf.
Peg and Pat lifted their baby from the car. His name was Caesar and he had a tremendous head that troubled some people. Peg and Pat carried him around the other couple’s house, remarking on the furniture. It had all come from Dick’s parents’ house, which had just sold. His dad was dead.
That explains all the flowers, said Fawn.
Caesar had gotten out of his basket. He could crawl but could not yet lift his head. The head hung in front of him, a stone he would push for the rest of his days.
Dick was showing Pat the stereo, which was broken. Good! Pat had an opportunity for heroics. Dick’s huge hands couldn’t turn the knobs. It would be an advantageous friendship for Pat.
Fawn was showing Peg the kitchen. The roast was broiling. Ok, said Peg. She produced a casserole dish: meat mashed with mayonnaise. Fawn poured pineapple juice and vodka into a pitcher and set it on the buffet. She tightened her apron. She did a squat and a twist. She took off her wig and fluffed it, then put it on the other way.
I could fuck her with this stick of butter, thought Peg. She was always thinking dirty thoughts!
The men were drinking on the loveseat. Dick had read a biography of a famous musician and was reciting it from memory to Pat, who was waiting for him to stop. Pat had read a biography of a different musician, and he wanted to talk, too. Soon they were engaged in a talking battle. Pat watched Dick’s mouth. He drew close and peered past the red lips, watching the tongue roll in its chamber, slapping the pale roof. Their veins pulsed and their belts strained. This was what Pat called stimulating conversation.
Fawn was showing Peg her room. It was set up like a laboratory lined with shelves of blue vials. I make scents, said Fawn. Peg sniffed a vial. Oh! That one I call Dick, said Fawn. Truly! said Peg. It’s yours, said Fawn. Peg rubbed it on her throat.
Fawn confided in Peg that she didn’t have any female friends. The deal was, she could stay at home if she had children, and she and Dick were waiting for that to happen. Peg observed Fawn’s hips. Do you know the trick? Peg demonstrated. Do that next time, she said.
In the dining room, Fawn rang the dinner bell. The roast was blackened and Dick was vigorous with the carver. He bent one leg for leverage. While he was distracted with the roast, Pat launched his counter-offensive. He talked very quickly, as loud as he could. He would win the talking battle.
Chew it good! Fawn told Peg, ripping the roast with her teeth. She refilled the glasses, then the pitchers. Peg stared at Fawn. She put a boiled carrot in her mouth, then another. Fawn nodded. They ate heartily, hating their husbands.
Dick was asleep. You’re not boring, Pat, he’s just drunk, said Fawn. She slapped Dick’s back and he started talking again.
A crash rang down the hallway. Everyone stiffened as a hot, rodeo smell flooded the room. It hit Pat first, then it hit Dick. The meat fell out of their mouths.
Caesar! said Fawn. Peg followed her to Fawn’s lab. A shelf had collapsed and the vials had rolled along the rug, their contents soaking the shag.
He couldn’t have gone far, said Fawn. She opened the closet and tossed out a Bunsen burner, then a beaker, then an Erlenmeyer flask. She disappeared deeper into the closet. I’ll just go check the centrifuge, she called.
Don’t worry about Caesar, said Peg. He’s never lost.
It had occurred to her one night, while washing his enormous head in the sink, that Caesar possessed intelligence beyond mortal abilities. He presented himself as an infant merely out of convenience.
Peg picked at the broken glass, then lay down on the rug. The scent was very heady. Pat appeared at the door. Dick wants dessert, he said.
Fawn and Peg went to the kitchen. There was gelatine in the icebox, a pink slurry in a Bundt pan. It unstuck with a slurp and spat out a cherry. The women clapped.
Oh! said Peg at the window, Who’s that?!
In the black swimming pool, an old woman rotated in an inflatable chair. Peg dropped her plate.
I’m so sorry, I’ve been jellied, she said. She held out her dress and the gelatine crept down her hose. Don’t worry, she startles me every time, said Fawn. That’s Dick’s mother. She’s supposed to stay in her room above the garage. Just don’t look at her. They scooped the goo off of the floor and heaped it in a bowl. It’s a salad now! Fawn said.
Fawn slid the salad onto the buffet and cleared the table. She filled the sink with detergent and soaked the roast pot. The water was warm and greasy. Fat floated on the surface. Fawn pulled on a pair of yellow gloves and sponged the pot with long, slow strokes. Then she dried it and put it in the cabinet.
Now let’s get that wet thing off of you, said Fawn. Peg took off her dress and Fawn put it in the sink to soak. Then Fawn took the sponge out of the sink and began sponging Peg.
I’m no stranger to stains, said Fawn.
A group of flutes blared in the sunken den. The stereo was fixed, and Dick was playing his favorite jazz record. So Pat had proven useful. What a relief for Peg! She and Fawn peeked around the corner and were astonished by what they saw.
Dick had Pat in a headlock. Pat was spanking Dick. Peg rushed forward, but Fawn caught her wrist. I think they’re dancing, she yelled. Peg was unsure, but her head bobbed to the rhythm.
Outside, the old woman paddled to the edge of the swimming pool. An infant was pushing its head down the steps. She cooed at it, slapping the water with delight. When it was close enough, she lifted its massive head into the bony ditch between her breasts, and in this embrace, they slowly began to sink.
Meanwhile, Pat and Dick were sliding across the sweaty tiles. They twirled to the music, slipping from one another’s grasp. Then they spotted their wives spying in the hall, and their hands fell.
Let’s jump in the pool, said Dick. They pushed through the palms circling the patio and stripped in the dark. Pat dove in. His head bumped against something on the surface of the water, something as solid as a volcanic island.
Pat, meet my mother, said Dick.
Pat could just make out the shape of the widow. Her teeth glinted in the dark.
Look, she found Caesar, Dick said, carrying the infant to the edge of the pool. Caesar babbled at them and crawled into the cannas.
Dick blew air into the inflatable chair’s rubber nipple. With each huff, the widow sat slightly higher. Then the two men floated on their backs, admiring the stars. It was a remarkably clear night. In the distance, a spillway opened, and the sky filled with squawking. Listen to that racket, said Dick. It happens every night, and those birds are surprised every time.
Let’s get a drink, said Pat.
They entered the house and found the women cleaning up the dessert. They were rolling around in it on the carpet. Shoulders twitching to the music, the men joined them in the sunken den.
It’s late, said Fawn when she woke up. No one knew how long they’d been asleep. Peg peeled a flattened cherry off of her hip. She crawled over Dick and slapped Pat until he opened his eyes.
This has been the best night of my life, said Pat.
We’ve really got to do this again, said Peg.
Pat and Peg drove drunk across the dam and crashed into a crepe myrtle tree. The car filled with smoke. Pat turned off the lights and they climbed into the back. Then he stuck his head between Peg’s legs and fell asleep. Peg stared through the smoke, replaying her evening spent in Fawn’s loaf.
We forgot Caesar! she said, smashing her thighs together. The head between them woke up and yelped. She pulled it up by the hair.
Why, you’re Dick! she said. It was true. This head was not her husband’s. But if this was Dick, Caesar was probably with Pat. Or Caesar had made it to another loaf, across another dam, and was holding the controls of the confusion there.
Oh, well, Peg thought, sinking back into the seat. She pushed Dick’s head down and thought of Fawn. They’d straighten it out tomorrow.