Once Around the Carousel

Chapter Eight

As the summer of 1967 ended, so did Perrin's decorating. Having set her sights on making the perfect home for her husband, she confidently walked room-to-room, knowing she wouldn't change anything.

For her boys, who'd always shared a room, she converted two bedrooms into a single space, installing racks and lockers for their sporting equipment, shelves for all their trophies, and carpet simulating a football field. In Sharon's room, playful fairies and angels slid down the wallpaper's spiraled candy-stripes, and the pink shag carpet was so deep it felt like wading through strawberry Fluffernutter. Originally meant as a mother-in-law suite, the room had its own bathroom and walk-in closet. There were two dressers, a dressing table and mirror, and a white, filigree canopy flowing above the twin bed.

Sharon's fancy dolls, the Madame Alexander's her grandmother had given her for Christmas and birthdays, were displayed in a glass-fronted cabinet. And in the closet were double bars for hanging clothes, shelves for toys and games, with a wheeled steamer trunk full of her Barbies. At this point, though, the girls' on-coming adolescence had mostly orphaned the dolls.

For the master bedroom, Perrin installed a king-sized bed with a large mirrored headboard and chrome-accented furniture that paralleled the decor throughout the house. Bob wanted a fresh start and got precisely that. Nearly every stick of furniture was new, shiny, and whenever possible, chrome and leather. Perrin tried keeping things from their old life, but Bob instructed her to discard it.

At Perrin's mere mention of wanting something, Bob puffed out his chest. "Just let me know the store and salesman's name," he would say, "and I'll take care of it."

Perrin had no idea where the money came from. It certainly didn't come from their joint checking account. She only knew that a call would come a day or two after Bob the information.

"Mr. MacCalaster asked me to inform you that he's taken care of the payment, ma'am," the store's manager would tell her. Then, with the deference of a salesman hoping for further business, he'd ask what delivery date and time best suited her schedule; because, of course, his men would rework their schedule for Mr. MacCalaster's wife. While it all seemed very odd, Perrin quickly found herself seduced by the special attention being Mrs. Bob MacCalaster brought.

Perrin never dared question Bob about any of it. He was the man of the house, and financial decisions were his alone. Still, something seemed off-kilter. To the best of her accounting, redecorating alone cost more than his yearly salary. Yet every week, he gave her an allowance far exceeding what she needed for food and incidentals. And when the topic of school clothes came up, Bob gave her more cash. Saying he wanted his daughter to be the best-dressed kid in school.

Endless as it appeared, the money came with a tradeoff. Bob spent two nights a week at his apartment in Hartford – the exact location of which he never made clear. Another one or two nights a week, Perrin could expect a call saying he was entertaining clients and wouldn't be home until after dinner. She accepted the situation. However, when wisps of concern did arise, Bob contained her questions with a fire-line of guilt before they could spread.

"I miss you and the kids so much it hurts," he told her one night when she tried deviating from his script. "You think I'm doing this for me? That Bob enjoys being away from you and the kids. No way Babe. But someone's gotta bring home the bacon, and that someone's your Big Bob."

"But Dad worked at Atlantic Equitable for 32 years, and he never came home later than 6:00. Has the insurance business changed so much since he passed away?"

"Oh, Perr, you know how much Pop meant to me. Other than a couple of coaches, he's the closest I came to having a father. But face it, he was nothing more than an actuary. Don't get me wrong; we need the pencil pushers. But it's men like me that bring in the business. Remember what I've always told you."