by Edwin Dasso
“Until it’s time to go,” Nicole whispered.
He put his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, their bodies touching. Standing together until he could hear Jill’s voice getting too close, he let her go. Walking down the stairs side by side, she could feel him breathing, his chest expanding next to her arm.
Jill was laughing when she opened the door to the stairwell. Balancing the heavy box of ornaments on his shoulder, Mark was sorry he’d encouraged her to decorate her apartment. “If I knew you’d be reducing me to a beast of burden, I’d have discouraged you from getting a tree.”
“Remember this the next time you get any bright ideas,” she replied, directing him to put the box down in the foyer outside of the entrance to the apartment. “Come in. Dinner is about ready to be served, and it will be good, I can promise you.”
“Do you cook any of the meal?”
“Are you insane? Trust me, you wouldn’t want to eat anything I cooked. I don’t even slice bread. I suppose that’s something else you think I should be doing,” she said, her chin in the air.
“You must have me confused with someone else,” he said gently. “I think you’re awesome whether you cook or not.”
They looked at each other, and her heart did the strange little pitter-pat again. While he folded the sides of the box in, Jill thought of Fred. She’d hoped the relationship had died a natural death, but that morning while she was getting ready for the day, he’d texted her with an apology. I’m an ass. Please forgive me. Let’s get together Christmas Eve, my place. My folks are anxious to meet you.
“Oh no,” she said out loud, texting him back. She was off Christmas Eve and Day, the first time in years she didn’t take call or have a case that couldn’t wait. But Christmas Eve couldn’t be spent at his house for dinner. Christmas Eve in Greektown wasn’t negotiable. She remembered Mark wanted to go to church, too. They’d go to midnight mass for a candlelight service. It was so beautiful, even if she was spiritually bereft; experiencing the service filled her with love for life and her family. It wasn’t something she was willing to give up, even to be with a boyfriend.
Sunday dinner was nice; great food, great company, and except for some whispering and tears among the non-Greek aunts and one outburst by Liz, the meal was uneventful. The women gathered to clean up afterward, and the men retreated for a poker game, inviting Mark to play. Aunt Maria took Jill aside and asked about him.
“Who’s the wrestler?” she asked, nodding toward Mark.
“Aunt! For God’s sake, keep it down, will you?”
“Well, you’ve got to admit the last two men you had were lanky SOBs. Where’d you pick this one up?”
Jill shushed her again, dragging her away from the rest of the family.
“He’s a police officer,” she answered. “A different precinct. If you promise to be quiet, I’ll tell you what happened.”
Maria crossed her heart, and Jill whispered about the incident that brought Mark into her life.
“Oh my God, I should kill your father for not telling me about this.”
“He just found out about it himself. Anyway, Fred is sort of still in the picture,” she said. “Mark is a colleague. He showed up for dinner, which I know sounds a little odd, but he’s pleasant, so it’s no big deal.”
“And pleasant to look at, I might add,” Maria said. “Estelle could hardly keep her hands off him during dinner.”
“I didn’t notice because of the other incident,” Jill whispered, referring to Liz bursting into tears during the meal.
“I hate to gossip about my brother, but something is going on that isn’t good,” Maria said. “I thought Liz and John had the perfect marriage.
“The whole we aren’t having kids thing I thought was mutually agreed upon. For Liz to shout out that they didn’t have kids because ‘John didn’t want to do it to me’, well, that was just a shock.” The women laughed, hanging on to each other’s arms.
“And such interesting dinnertime conversation,” Jill said, snickering. “I had warned Mark to be prepared for anything.”
From the moment Liz and John walked into the apartment, the family knew something was wrong. Eyes red rimmed and face flushed, it was obvious Liz had been crying. Lurking in a corner, Paula was waiting for the other sisters-in-law to arrive. Steering Liz away from everyone else, she questioned her right away.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“That fucker is moving out of my bedroom,” Liz said loudly enough for those in the room to perk up and take notice.
“Shush,” Paula hissed, pulling her down the hall to the bathroom. “You better calm down, or you’ll have Maria in your face for details.”
“I don’t give a shit,” she cried. “Why isn’t Joan here yet? I’m telling you, he’s not doing it to me. He’s not using me.” She almost slipped and said, “Like Nick is using you.”
Paula had discovered the previous summer than Nick and Gus’s late wife had an affair and that Nick fathered her son, who Gus had raised as his own. She’d wanted a family, but it never happened for them, and finding out that Nick could have children just added to the pain. They’d separated right after, but Paula still washed his clothes and cooked for him.
“Of course he won’t use you. Where’d this come from? Everything was fine last weekend,” Paula said.
“I let you think it was fine because I was in denial. John doesn’t love me; he can’t possibly have loved me for years.” There was a tap on the bathroom door.
“I need to get in,” Nick said from the other side of the door. Paula unlocked and opened up. “What’s going on in here?” He looked at Liz. “Uh-oh. Do you want me to kick his ass?”
Liz shook her head and started crying again. Paula flashed Nick a compassionate look as she pushed Liz out of the bathroom.
“Come on, Lizzy,” she said. “Let’s see if we can help get dinner served on time.” Meals were notoriously late in Greektown, insuring that everyone would consume twice their allotted calories eating snacks. But Peter and Joan had arrived, so Joan had to be told the story while Nick and Peter tried to get John to confess.
5
John had lived a lie, but not intentionally, because he was unsure exactly what his problem was. As a child, his brothers protected him. Then as a gorgeous teen, he dated constantly, but never one girl long enough that the lack of intimacy was an issue. He wasn’t sure why Liz tolerated it before they got married, and afterward, he simply blamed her for their problems.
He’d dragged the superficial issues to the forefront to avoid talking about the deeper, real problems. “You’re always pressuring me to do things I don’t want to do,” he’d said. “A perfect example is buying season tickets to community theatre. It’s torture for me to have to sit through a play. No one really likes to go to those things except the actors and their families. And flea markets. I hate old things.”
She was shocked. “John, why in heaven’s name didn’t you say something to me about it when it was happening? I thought you loved going as much as I did.”
When they were struggling with infertility, he refused to cooperate with the advice the specialist gave them. Liz took it personally, accusing him of purposely avoiding sex with her to prevent a pregnancy. Slowly over the years, their relationship evolved into one in which he tolerated her plans and goals in exchange for a little peace and quiet. Their social life revolved around his family, or it would have been intolerable. Seeing his brothers cope with their wives’ demands made the things Liz expected of him a little easier to do. Right from the beginning, sex was a chore, but one he tolerated to keep the peace.
When they’d gotten married, he was a virgin. “I can’t believe you’ve never had a girlfriend,” Liz said when they were getting serious.
“I didn’t say I didn’t have a girlfriend,” John replied. “I just never had sex.”
“But why not?” She was confused. Not particularly religious, he didn’t really have a reason to abstain. Unless he wasn�
�t interested in sex, why wouldn’t he make love to someone he loved.
“Sex outside of marriage doesn’t mean anything,” he said.
“So do you mean you are saving yourself for your future wife?”
He didn’t respond right away.
“Not exactly,” he replied, contradicting himself. “It’s just not appropriate outside of marriage.” Still not convinced, she made the mistake of deciding to accept the reasons he gave her at face value rather than digging more deeply into it. Of course, it was an issue with constant presence after the wedding.
The first indication of trouble was on their wedding night. The wedding was an over-the-top, uber-formal affair at the Plymouth Country Club. Guests were treated to a wedding breakfast and reception, ten bridesmaids, a flower girl, ring bearer, maid and matron of honor. Liz’s parents had spent so much money on it, she was worried they’d never be able to retire. The wedding planner pulled it off without a hitch, fielding John’s family into their own little area of the banquet hall and trying to placate John’s mother and aunts, whose involvement in the preparations was discouraged, by having spinach pies for an appetizer. The wedding crowns, ceremonial walk, candle lighting and communion from the common cup, all traditions in a Greek wedding were left out of the ceremony, an omission Liz would later regret.
After the reception, they went to the airport, where they would spend the night, leaving for a ten-day Hawaiian honeymoon the next morning. Liz changed out of her wedding dress into a knit suit, but John still had his tux on, looking disheveled and anxious. “You can put your sweatpants on as soon as we get to the hotel,” she said, worried about him. They’d hardly had more than a minute to talk during the reception.
John leaned over, trying to put the key into the ignition of his brother Nick’s Cadillac with shaking hands. He looked up at Liz. “I had no idea my family was going to be sequestered during the reception. I don’t think I’ve ever been more humiliated in my life.”
Liz had a hot flash; she felt badly, too, but it had been too late when she realized how disrespectful it must have seemed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “At the time, I thought they’d be more comfortable if we put everyone together, and the only space available for a big group was in that corner. We really did intend on it being in their favor.”
“For the past six months, every request I had for the ceremony was shot down. There wasn’t one thing about me in that vulgar display of your parents’ wealth.”
“John, it’s a little late to complain about it after the wedding is over. Why didn’t you tell me that those things meant something to you? I thought you were asking to include them because your family expected it.” She felt sick to her stomach. John manipulated the situation when he didn’t want to do something with her. He’d pick a fight, drag up something that was impossible for her to resolve, usually because it was after the fact, and then make her suffer by being angry. And John was a dirty fighter. He was a pro at giving the silent treatment. Please God, not tonight, she silently prayed. She reached over and tried to take his hand, but he pulled away from her.
“Please forgive me,” she said. “I am so sorry I disappointed you, sorry your family is upset. We can have a big party when we get back and have all the Greek traditions you want.”
He didn’t answer, finally turning the key, and started the car. As they drove toward the expressway, Liz’s heart fell. She knew that John had set her up for the night. He did not intend to make love to her, and maybe had even allowed her to make stupid choices for the reception so he could throw it up in her face later.
They arrived at the hotel and got the suitcases out in silence, John walking ahead of her. She decided to go forward as though everything was okay between them. She’d planned an exciting evening that included a provocative yet virginal nighty, bubble bath and candles. One of the suitcases contained satin sheets, flavored lubricants and body glitter. Everything she might need to help a reluctant virgin enjoy his first sexual encounter, she bought. They got up to the room after ten. While John was in the bathroom taking off his tuxedo, Liz quickly put the sheets on the bed and scattered the proverbial red rose petals all over. She sat waiting. Finally, after thirty minutes, he came out in his sweatpants, as she’d suggested.
“What’s this?” he asked, frowning at the rose-covered bed.
“Oh, just something to help us get in the mood for our wedding night!” she said, smiling, gathering up her nighty and toiletry bag.
“Liz, it’s going to take more than satin sheets to get me in the mood. I’m too angry to do anything tonight.”
Liz looked at him and wanted to throw the bag in his face. It figures, asshole, she thought. After a few minutes when she regained control of her tongue, she nodded her head.
“Okay,” she said, pulling the sheets off the bed and throwing the hotel sheets to him. “Put these back on.” He could sleep on the gritty, polyester sheets supplied by the hotel. She went into the bathroom and came out a few minutes later with her sweatpants on, too. They didn’t speak again, sleeping back to back. Liz had one moment where her anger dissipated into despair, and she got up to go into the bathroom to have a good cry.
Pretending their marriage worked was easy as long as they were busy following their own pursuits. Their honeymoon was a smashing success to onlookers. They parasailed, jet-skied, surfed, scuba dived and rode horseback on the beach. Most nights, they drank themselves into oblivion after consuming a gourmet meal, consummating their marriage was the last thing on either of their minds. Liz walked through those first few days like a zombie after gathering the courage to bring up the topic one more time, after they were settled in Hawaii. She’d given extra-special attention to her appearance and ordered dinner served in their room. John loathed dining out, and she hoped it would be a peace offering.
“I hope we can try to be together tonight,” she said while they sat on the balcony with the ocean view as the sun set, finishing off the second bottle of wine.
John looked at her with a smirk. “When you say be together, what exactly do you mean?”
She looked at him, his curly black hair with one corkscrew lock blowing in the wind, his broad shoulders, slender build and aristocratic nose. Slurring his words just enough that she would forgive him later, his sarcasm was rarely as obvious as it was when he had been drinking. And she’d learn on their honeymoon that bringing up the subject of sex when he was drunk was not smart.
“I mean make love,” she replied softly.
Walking to the window, John sneered at her.
Liz bristled, afraid to continue, but John wasn’t going to leave it alone. “When you say try, are you insinuating I won’t be able to get it up?” The mention of his penis was such a contradiction, she almost laughed out loud. But suddenly, she was tired of him controlling the conversation with his sarcasm.
“No, John, not at all. However, since we’re on the topic, can you get one? We’ve never put ourselves in the position of knowing if you can or not, so I trust you can. Get an erection, that is.”
She was still staring at him, willing the wine not to make any more decisions for her. He’d managed to do what he’d done so often in the past; take something innocent that she’d said, and twist it around so it would appear that she was insulting him. It would insure there’d be no intimacy. So knowing that they weren’t going to do it again, she was ready to bait him, to fight tooth and nail. Maybe if they fought enough, he’d ask her for a divorce and get an annulment. It would be easier if he did it; she didn’t have the strength, and her pride couldn’t take having to admit to their friends that they didn’t have sex on their honeymoon.
He stood up in front of her and, on unsteady feet, unzipped and pulled out a very impressive and perfectly erect penis.
Liz couldn’t help it; in her horny, drunk and deprived state, she shouted at him, “Oh my God. That’s what you’ve been hiding from me all this time?” she said, lunging for him. “John, it’s fabulous!”
But he was too fast, jumping away from her while putting his parts out of view in one swift move.
“But we’re married now!” she screamed.
“All in good time,” he mumbled, stumbling to the bed. She watched in horror as his lanky frame folded onto the mattress as soon as his knees hit the edge. Carefully getting up on unsteady legs, she went to see if he was still breathing. John lay on his side, eyes closed, long black eyelashes resting on his cheeks. She waited for him to move, and when he didn’t, she pulled his legs up on the bed.
Driving back to Eaton Rapids from Greektown on the last Sunday before Christmas, Liz cried out. “I remember our wedding and honeymoon, how handsome you looked in your tux. It doesn’t seem possible that we’re at this place again. I really loved you.”
“I loved you, too,” John said. “Just not the way you wanted me to.”
“But what does that mean? We’ve talked in a circle,” Liz replied. “Why, if we still love each other, can’t we work out our problems?”
John snickered unpleasantly.
She frowned. “What?”
“There’s nothing to work out. Stop torturing yourself, Liz. It’s over. We should’ve never gotten married.”
Later attributed to either pent-up emotion or too much retsina after dinner, those words unleashed a torrent of fury within Liz. She started screaming, yodeling was more like it, with her hands over her face, leaning forward, forehead almost touching the dashboard. Later, John would remember exactly what she wore that day: a black velvet pea coat and heavy satin trousers in a dark burgundy color. A few years before, she wore the same thing to Christmas dinner; although out of style at the time, she’d said she paid a small fortune for it and would wear the ensemble until it was threadbare. Back in fashion again, she looked beautiful.
He noticed her tiny midriff and lovely long neck and, instead of trying to console her, thought, Why didn’t I love my wife the way I should have? He was unable to even think the words have sex, make love, intimacy. He loved his wife like a friend. That’s what was so unfortunate about all of it; he just didn’t want to be bothered.
