Strange start to a vacation

We rented a camper for our new pickup truck the second year running and decided to try a nearby campground for a shakedown. But the campground was full; I headed north through the Seattle warehouse district.

I saw a woman jump out of a car on Fourth Ave. and run away down the sidewalk. A man jumped out to chase her.

I did a U-Turn and called across the street to ask if she needed help. She waved me off, walking now, fast and agitated. The man had gone back to his car. I made another U-Turn and slowed by the woman so my wife could talk to her. With a woman asking, she accepted and jumped right in. She was hysterical and pretty drunk.

When she could form identifiable words, she told my wife she was angry at her husband for showing her off to some people at a party and acting like he wanted her to…mumble mumble…

My wife said really? She sounded shocked.

I kept driving. I didn’t know what else to do. The woman began to sober up and smoke my wife’s cigarettes. They had their heads together as the woman plotted revenge on hubby in whispers. I never learned her plan. We took her all the way home north of Seattle. She insisted on inviting us in for tea, and kept talking about how grateful she was and how nice we were until her husband finally got home.

I heard the car and went to look. It was another Sirocco like the one already parked in the drive. She said they bought identical cars. (“Mine’s prettier though!”)

He came in quietly, surprised to find company. They spent a tense little interlude not-looking at each other. He made small talk with my wife. I made small talk with his wife. No one mentioned the ruckus.

The woman kind of half giggled and told me it was too bad their babysitter was sleeping over, to mind their eighteen-month-old. It was the first thing her husband deigned to hear, and he agreed with her. Then he asked my wife if those were her Benson and Hedges his wife was smoking, and made a production of asking if he could have one and letting my wife light it for him, cupping his hands around her hands, smiling into her eyes.

He was a clean-cut young man, self-confident, and told my wife he was the son of a big lumberyard owner. He seemed used to getting his way, with a pretty young wife in a sexy, clingy dress; nice cars and a beautifully furnished house. I wondered in what way he showed his wife off at that party to make her go ballistic.

He told his wife it was all right the babysitter was there; there was a third bedroom and the walls were soundproof. He told my wife we were welcome to sleep over since we’d gone so far out of our way to bring his wife home. His wife urged me to accept.

But our own kids were sleeping soundly in the camper outside; no way were we going to leave them out there. His wife told me you can carry them into the babysitter’s room; there’s an extra bed. I’ll help you. He told my wife I’ll help you make the bed while they bring them in. It was like their spat hadn’t happened; they seemed working in tandem on each of us to persuade us. The situation became fraught with unspoken things.

So I got up and said we’d be going. His wife gave my wife a big hug, and then me. The husband gave my wife a lingering hug and said he liked her cigarettes — and her perfume — before he shook hands with me and asked us again to stay.

They had their arms around each other nuzzling as we made our escape, and seemed sorry to see us go. I never mentioned the strange vibrations I sensed in that house. My wife never told me what his wife said in the truck about the party they’d been to. It was a strange start to a vacation.