Waiting: One Wife's Year of the Vietnam War

Chapter 19

{Chapter 19} The three of us living in the apartment found our footing without Mrs. Sheldon’s steadying hand the best we could. Susan made friends with a lovely woman at her new company and began bringing Adrienne by after work. Adrienne’s visits were always brief because she was eager to get home to her young son, who spent his days with her mother. Occasionally Susan went out in the evenings with Adrienne, apparently preferring dinners with her friend over parties with Miles. I was always extended an invitation, but I thought it was good for Susan to have time with someone besides me, someone who brought new perspectives to her life and gave her something to talk about other than Vietnam. Miles continued to work through the remaining weeks of the summer; more often than not, he stayed at home after work those days. I assumed the partying had grown old or that too much fun was taking its toll. I passed the days in a haze of the mundane, waiting for mail that came too infrequently, traipsing weekly to the commissary, writing letters, and daydreaming about the baby. One day rolled into another during this unusual spell of quiet on the Western Front. Without Mrs. Sheldon in the picture, Susan and Miles spent more time talking than shouting. It was in the course of one of these conversations that Miles revealed that his partying had dwindled because he had not been able to reciprocate, to host a bash of his own. The flat had been so filled with arriving bodies and settling-in activities during the summer, the opportunity for him to be recognized as one of the occupants had been overcome by other events. When Susan pointed this out to me, I agreed that she was right, and [142] chapter 19 after all, his having use of the space when he needed it was one of the reasons the Sheldons had leased the flat in the first place. His having access paid a portion of the rent. Both of us readily agreed that he should plan to return the invitations he had received. On the day of the party, Susan and I cleaned the apartment and prepared the food, actually delighted with the activity and sense of urgency. Susan was excited by the festivities and looked forward to the evening. I withheld any judgments, although I did agree to at least put in an appearance. A few familiar faces drifted in early. Randy, sporting his most current bib and tucker, assumed the role of co-host and grandly welcomed new arrivals while I kept an eye on the hors d’oeuvre trays as an excuse to stay busy. Each time I reentered the living room from the kitchen, the crowd had doubled again and the noise level tripled. Soon guests were crammed shoulder to shoulder, yelling to each other over the booming music. Fighting my way back to the kitchen with another empty serving platter , I found Susan by the table, grilling Miles through clamped teeth. “How many people did you invite?” Miles shrugged innocently, “Just a few, some friends.” Susan whispered furiously, “You don’t have this many friends. You don’t even know this many people in San Francisco.” Miles retorted, “What’s the problem? So some friends brought other friends. It’s no big deal.” He threw up his hand in greeting to someone he recognized above the heads of the throng and waved them into the room. “Well, hell,” Susan said passively, “we might as well enjoy ourselves, too. Let Miles worry about the food.” With that, she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the hallway. “Excuse me, excuse me,” Susan called as she worked her way through the close bodies, “make way for my pregnant roommate.” Susan moved us from one acquaintance to another, introducing me as we inched along. Invariably, when she said “pregnant roommate,” eyebrows shot upward into question marks and suppositions formed on faces. Then Susan leaned over to shout into the person’s ear that our husbands were in Vietnam. Expressions told me that in 1969, having a child out of wedlock was far more acceptable than having a husband in Vietnam. August 1969 [143] • • • I awoke with a start. “Goddamn it, Miles,” Susan was shouting. When I reached the kitchen, Susan was alone, standing with the refrigerator door pulled open. “Do you believe...